Conversion
by MizSphinx
Summary: FIN. Hermione Granger has developed a crush on Draco Malfoy. She wants him to notice her, so she sets out to find ways to do so. But there's one small problem: Draco Malfoy is gay.
1. Un Chapitre

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'll be in a polygamous relationship with Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, and Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black and possibly Remus Lupin would be my weekend side dishes to enjoy. Heh.

AN: What am I doing? I cannot believe I've yet to finish Debtors and Collectors, have just begun a new fic and I'm starting _YET_ another new one? I know. Tengo muy loco, si? Si!

_**Un Chapitre**_

Hermione could not remember the specific day she'd become infatuated with Draco Malfoy. She could barely recollect the moment when they'd transitioned from bitter enemies to polite but awkward acquaintances. She remembered, however, that one afternoon after a very detailed, fairytale-esque daydream involving a date in Milan, a lovemaking session in Paris and a wedding ceremony in Britain, she'd considered that maybe, just maybe, she'd developed a crush of sorts on Draco Malfoy.

The realization had struck her with slight horror. A crush on Draco Malfoy was a very bad idea. There were several opposing factors involved that could not be ignored. Very first and foremost, they'd been longtime enemies forced into tepid acquaintanceship due to the demands of their close work environment. Secondly, his father despised her, had made several attempts to murder her and was currently serving life imprisonment in Azkaban due to her testimony against him. Thirdly, Draco Malfoy could not be trusted: he'd jumped sides when it was apparent who was to be the victor after the War and, subsequently, had escaped a sentencing to Azkaban. And fourthly, the most important of all, Draco Malfoy was gay.

Yes, Draco Malfoy fancied men.

The Wizarding community at large learnt of this the way things were usually discovered: through the Daily Prophet. Hermione, along with the rest of the Hogwarts professors, was having her breakfast when the owls had arrived to drop their post. She'd been trying her best not to sneak little glances at him but had failed. She was grateful for a distraction, and like the rest of the Great Hall, had immediately opened the Monday edition of the Daily Prophet to find on the front page a picture of Draco and an unknown fellow having a passionate snog behind the Leaky Cauldron.

The silence that followed was like a deafening roar. She couldn't even appreciate the irony of the situation.

Gobsmacked, her eyes uncharacteristically wide in amazement, she'd ogled the picture with a determination to eliminate the possibility that her secret object of infatuation was in a steamy lip-lock with a _man. _But no, it was Draco Malfoy indeed. The newspaper had made sure to spend extra money on ink to print it in vivid colour instead of the customary black and white. There had been no denying those shoulder length platinum locks he'd grown out, nor that tall, slim broad shouldered body, nor that strong, light-bearded jaw that was working furiously from the ardor of the kiss.

_Merlin, why couldn't have that fellow been me! _She'd thought.

All eyes in the Great Hall had turned to find Draco giving the article a very bored look. He did not acknowledge the stares but simply opened up the paper to continue his morning read. Professor McGonagall, current Headmistress of Hogwarts and seemingly the first to be shaken from her shock, had cleared her throat loudly and ordered the students to return to their meals less they find it had disappeared.

"Mr. Malfoy, a word?" she'd continued, standing so abruptly her chair had fallen onto its back.

Lazily, Draco had closed his paper and stood, briefly glancing about the quiet table. His gaze had momentarily connected with Hermione's still surprised one before he'd sauntered off behind Professor McGonagall, who'd already begun to lead the way out of the room.

And now it was Thursday afternoon. She'd just dismissed her second year afternoon classes and she was still reeling from the shock. The entire school was still reeling from the shock. How could this be? Why did Draco fancy men? Wasn't he always a bit promiscuous with the ladies during their Hogwarts schooling? Why had she not seen this coming?

Similar questions bombarded her and she tried to tell herself that she was not devastated but merely disappointed. She told herself that this was for the best. With the knowledge that her feelings would never be reciprocated, there was nothing left but for her infatuation to wither away as she'd longed for it to do. She'd had no right lusting after a man such as him and this revelation was like an awakening slap. Not only was he wrong for her, she was wrong for him…gender-wise.

Berating herself and thanking Merlin for her rude awakening, she began to tidy up her desk manually. When she was finished, she exited the classroom, turning left into the corridor and colliding solidly into someone. She was thrown to the floor, landing on her bottom harshly with a loud 'oomph!' and her briefcase flew out of her hands to spew all its contents on the floor.

"Watch where you're going next time, Granger," said a familiar voice in vexed tones. She whipped her head up sharply to meet the scowling gaze of Draco Malfoy. He'd not suffered a fall but was standing, arms folded and glaring down at her. He hadn't even the decency to offer her his hand in assistance.

Angered at this injustice, she rose to her feet and dusted her slightly sore bottom. "I hadn't seen you, Malfoy," she retorted defensively. His scowl dissolved into a smirk and Hermione's heart began beating a little faster. Hermione also could not remember the time when his smirk, an all-present expression that used to irk her beyond reason, had suddenly become an attractive-heightening feature on Draco.

He leaned closer, bending forward so his twin pools of sky-grey could meet her slightly widened chocolate ones and Hermione was sure her racing organ had skipped a beat. He was so close. Oh so close. If only she were brave enough to lean forward and steal a kiss from those smirking lips!

"Granger," he said, his voice low and soft.

"Yes?" she whispered, suddenly daring to hope he was moments away from requesting a kiss. A kiss she'd speedily grant without his asking.

"I think your vision needs to be corrected, you blind bint." And he righted himself before he sidestepped her briefcase and its spilled assortments to continue on down the corridor. He'd neglected to wear his teaching robes—a bone of contention between him and Professor McGonagall—so Hermione had time to admire his broad shoulders and long legs and his hair, mussed-up to attractive perfection.

And she sighed a deep, long-suffering sigh. She was hopelessly infatuated with Draco Malfoy even in the face of his mean attitude towards her. She'd longed for him to crash his mouth down on hers, snogging her as passionately as he did that man in the article. But, alas, it wasn't to be. It would never be.

_Unless I do something about it._

But how? How could she make Draco Malfoy notice her? He didn't fancy her type. What was she to do? She couldn't just walk up and profess her admiration to him. She was not that brazen and his ensuing, belly-holding, knee-slapping laughter would be like an ax to her pride. No, verbal confessions would not work. So what was she to _do?_

And the answer came to her. There was only one person she knew who had the ability to solve such an enormous problem. Only one woman who knew about every aspect and kind of love and how to achieve it. Hermione sincerely believed that this woman, raised momentarily to the status of demigoddess in her eyes, would be the help she needed. Only she might have the answer to convert Draco Malfoy from homosexuality to returning Hermione's feelings. She glanced at her watch and nodded determinedly.

Yes, this was the answer. She'd better get moving before the Divination fifth years class had begun. After all, she had to speak urgently to one Lavender Brown: Love Mistress Extraordinaire.

.ooooo.

AN: And we're off! Let's see what's going to happen next, shall we? :D Tell me what you think!


	2. Deux Chapitre

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, only reviews and alerts and possibly some flames.

_**Deux Chapitre**_

How Hermione Granger and Lavender Brown had become good friends was a mystery even Dumbledore would not have been able to solve if he was still alive. Their relationship, pre-Hogwarts employment, had been rife with mixtures of frosty looks and volatile arguments when Hermione had learnt of Ron's affair with Lavender. A bonding had been formed when Lavender had found Ron cheating on her with yet another woman and the two witches, due to mutual hatred, had decided to have a drinking session complete with some heavy Ron-bashing.

From there, despite their great differences, they'd begun to consider themselves friends. Their personalities complemented each other: Hermione's practicality saved Lavender from her moments of irrationality and Lavender's outgoingness made up for Hermione's shy tendencies. Whatever preconceived judgments they'd harboured about each other had been blown to bits when they realised that they got on well.

So, prone to young women, they shared every detail about their past and present relationships. They'd smoothed over their rough patch concerning Ron and had even come to laugh about the incident. Hermione was aware of Lavender's secret affair with Severus Snape—a match that boggled the mind in Hermione's opinion but she dared not voice it—and Lavender knew that Hermione had a mammoth crush on Draco Malfoy.

That was why, when Draco's sexual orientation was declared against Hermione's favour, Lavender was the first person on Hermione's mind to turn to for advice.

"Lavender!" cried Hermione as she ran into the classroom short-of-breath. "I…I need your help."

"Took you long enough," replied Lavender as she sorted tealeaves at her desk for the class that was due any minute.

"You don't even know what I want help with," Hermione said, setting herself on the edge of one of the sofas.

"Despite what you think, I read the papers, Hermione," Lavender teased. "And even if I didn't, the gossip mill in Hogwarts is formidable." She looked directly at Hermione. "You want Draco in your knickers but he prefers briefs instead. Am I right?"

Hermione blushed, bowing her head in slight shame, "You don't have to make it sound so…_crass_."

"Indeed," responded Lavender, sounding uncannily like Severus Snape. Hermione lifted her head sharply, terrified that Lavender had suddenly transformed into the Potions Master. To her relief, she found her still sorting and arranging the leaves.

"So?" Hermione pressed, anxiety spread across her face. "Can you…will you help me?"

Just as Lavender opened her mouth, the fifth years for Divination began to pour in, glancing curiously between Hermione and their Divination professor. Hermione huffed in frustration before she got up and turned to leave. Before she got to door, however, Lavender grabbed her hand and placed a shrunken book in her palm.

"Give it a read," she whispered then turned and headed back to her desk.

* * *

That night, after taking a shower and making herself some hot chocolate, Hermione decided to peer through the book. She retrieved it from her briefcase and returned it to its natural size with a wand tap. The book was a regular-sized hardcover, painted in deep red with golden embossed lettering and twines of red roses occasionally appeared to wind themselves about the words. On the front cover, it read: _To Fell A Wizard _by Amalea Dewhurst.

She opened the book and went directly for the first chapter.

_**Introduction:**_

_Hello young—or young at heart—witch! The fact that you have chosen this book tells me that you are interested in a seemingly unattainable wizard and you want to make him fall in love with you! But have no fear, I am here! No wizard is unattainable! Even Merlin himself would be available to you by the time you've finished reading my instructions! This book is one hundred and fifty percent fail-proof and should you follow each direction implicitly, you'll have your wizard falling hard like Humpty Dumpty for you! Now, onwards!_

_**One: Hooking a Wizard**_

_How do you hook a wizard, you ask? Easy! Simple! Hooking a wizard, that is, making him notice you is no hard feat to accomplish. Stop making excuses and denying yourself your just desserts! If you've noticed a wizard and want him, I will show you how! This book is designed to educate those witches out there who know what they want but just don't know how to get it!_

_**1.**__** Eye contact!**__ First connections counts. Nothing is greater than a fantastic eye connection. People express themselves through their eyes and expressing how you feel to him through yours is a bonus! He'll understand what you want and how you feel when you lock gazes! Don't be afraid to open them wider if doesn't get the point right away!_

_**2. Smile!**__ Men are visual creatures so feed their senses! Even if he doesn't know you exist as yet, flash those pearly whites. Smile! A vibrant, friendly smile directed his way will get his attention in no time! Grin if you have to. The more teeth you show, the better!_

_**3. Talk! **__No witch appreciates a mute wizard so why should he? Have a gift for gab? Use it! Don't be shy! If you encounter him along the streets, waylay him with a 'Hi, how are you?' and if it's looking a little rainy that day, move on with 'Awful weather, isn't it?'. Switch these examples up to make things fresh! Never mind if he appears uninterested in the conversation. He may be shy as well, so do the talking for the both of you! Break the ice!_

_**4. Find out more about him!**__ Nothing is more disappointing than liking a certain wizard only to find out he's a Death Eater in training! So find out more about him! If you've followed instruction number three correctly then, by now, you're able to have regular conversations with him. So, question him! Don't go wasting your precious interest on someone unworthy! Interrogate him and, if the opportunity arises, administer Veritaserum first before you interrogate him! Have no qualms! It isn't illegal!_

_**5. Become friends!**__ It's a known fact that friends usually become lovers! So why not try it too? A friendship is a wonderful bond between two people and should it be between a man and a woman, even better! So make him your friend. Don't bother asking! By now, he'll be your friend without any proposals! Do things together that friends usually do: send letters, go out, shopping, bike riding, salsa dancing, bungee jumping. And for added effect that will steer your friendship towards something more, go skinny dipping! No male friend can resist his female friend after he's seen her naked!_

Hermione snapped the book shut in irritation. She couldn't believe she'd lasted that long without flinging the book in her fireplace where it would burn to nonexistence. However, because she held all books in high value, she slowly placed it on her coffee table. She swallowed the remains of her hot chocolate and placed the mug near the offending piece of writing.

_What a load of hogwash! _She thought. Why did Lavender suggest it? How could any respectable witch follow those bogus instructions? Not to mention the way the book was written as though penned by a twelve-year old. So many exclamation points! She'd lost track after she'd counted ten in two paragraphs alone.

Sighing, she rose from her seat on the sofa and grabbed up her briefcase. She unearthed a stack of miniature scrolls—the homework essays her History of Magic second year students had given her—and placed them on her study desk. They were due for marking and they weren't going to do it themselves. So, with quill in one hand and an ink bottle in the other, Hermione settled down to carry out her duty as a professor.

The next morning, Hermione awoke in a sour mood, having dreamt about the book and arising to find she was seriously contemplating to try at least one of the methods mentioned. She was vexed with herself and her desperation. She knew shoddy advice when she saw it so why was she thinking to try it? Why couldn't she just give up hope on Draco Malfoy and move on?

Feeling glum about her situation, she went down to breakfast and tried to fight the way her eyes roamed along the professors' table for a blond head but failed. She noticed him almost immediately, deep in conversation with Severus Snape.

"Good morning," she called when she arrived at the table, trying to sound cheery. The other professors that were there replied their hellos but Snape and Malfoy refused to even look her way.

Grinding her teeth at their blatant rudeness, she surprised herself when she persisted with a forced smile, "Good morning, Severus, Dra—Malfoy."

They both looked across at her, giving her pointed and bored looks.

"Granger," Snape replied coldly with a stiff nod before returning to his conversation with Draco who hadn't bothered saying anything at all.

Still not satisfied, she continued, "Good morning, Malfoy."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Granger, we're aware the morning is _good_," replied Draco in exasperated tones. "What is your problem?"

Forced smile in place, "I'm just trying to teach good manners wherever it needs to be taught,"

"Well, good manners dictate when you see two people talking privately, you don't interrupt," Draco retorted.

She didn't miss a beat, "And good manners dictate that it's rude to speak secretly when you are amongst company."

"And good manners dictate that busybodies ought to keep their noses out of things that don't concern them," he responded.

"And good manners," interrupted Professor McGonagall as Hermione opened her mouth for a comeback, "dictate that you two should cease your bickering and let the rest of us enjoy our breakfast in peace!"

Hermione blushed and Draco smirked then turned and struck up conversation once more with Severus Snape. She felt mortified to be rebuked by her old professor as though she were a child once more. Not that it was unnecessary, for she had been acting immaturely. So what if he ignored her? Why did she have to feel hurt by it? Why did she have to force him to notice her? It was more than obvious that Draco Malfoy could give a rat's arse if she existed or not, so why bother trying to prove differently?

She picked at her breakfast and was the first to leave the table. When she'd finished arranging her notes for the class, she remembered her distaste for the book Lavender had suggested and sent a quick note to the young woman, expressing her dissatisfaction. Lavender immediately responded with words of encouragement to 'try it' and that "It works! Look at me and Severus!"

Surprised with this revelation, she decided to reconsider the book. If a man like Severus Snape had fallen for a woman like Lavender Brown, then possibilities were wide and glorious for her, wasn't it? Did it even matter if the man in question wasn't interested in women?

* * *

After three days of mustering up the courage and Lavender's threats to reveal her crush in a well placed note on Draco's desk, Hermione decided to implement the first three of the five methods on Draco Malfoy. On a sunny Tuesday morning, she went down to breakfast, thanking Merlin when she found it was only three professors at the table, two of which were in deep conversation about Ministry politics. Draco was sitting by himself, so she made it her duty to sit across from him.

"Good morning," she said softly and this time he looked up and at her.

_Make eye contact. Make eye contact._

She stared into his eyes and he stared right back.

_Such beautiful silver eyes…our children will definitely—_

"Granger, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she replied, looking away with a blush.

_Smile, darn it!_

She lifted her head to smile at him but he'd already tucked back into his breakfast.

_Now what was the next one…talk, was it? Ok, talk…talk…about what? Weather! Right, weather it is._

"Awful day today, isn't it?" she tried again.

"It's sunny, so no, it isn't."

She looked up and saw the transfigured roof of Hogwarts a clear and brilliant blue. Not a speck of rain or storm clouds in sight. She dropped her gaze and found he'd moved on to his paper. So, determined to try all avenues, she made yet another attempt at conversation.

"What are you reading?"

His sigh was loud, "The paper."

"I meant, what are you reading _about_," she persisted.

He gave her a bored look over the top of the opened paper. _Smile! _She smiled.

Coldly, he said, "Granger, I really don't like busybodies and, frankly, I really don't like you either."

Very hurt but trying to not show it, she responded with, "Malfoy, I'm just trying to make conversation. It's the grown-up thing to do."

"Then please do make conversation elsewhere with someone who'll attempt to be interested in anything you've got to say," he replied then settled his paper in a way to completely block her face from his vision.

Feeling defeated, tears pricked the corners of her eyes but she blinked them away speedily. She thought to herself that she'd rather redo her complete Hogwarts education than try to conquer a man who disliked her as a person and as a romantic interest. She was fed up of her defeatist attitude but she had nowhere else to turn. _To Fell A Wizard _was aimed at women who were certain that their interest had the ability to reciprocate their feelings. It was not aimed at women like her, who had an insane crush on her childhood enemy.

She didn't even bother trying to eat breakfast. All appetite had been washed away in the face of Draco's rebuff. Standing, she gathered up her briefcase and left for her classroom.

As she left the Great Hall, she was not aware of Draco giving her an odd look over the top of his newspaper.

* * *

AN: You may find Hermione OOC in this chapter, my apologies but she may just be like that during the rest of this story. Anywhen, hope you enjoyed the second installment. Tell me what you think about it! I know it's short but I promise longer chapters from here on ::crosses fingers:: Hehe.

And thanks to all that reviewed and alerted and favourited :) You guys are the best!


	3. Trois Chapitre

AN: Chapter will be edited soon.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of J.K. Rowling. If I did, do you REALLY believe I'd be doing fanfiction when I could write them doing dirty, dirty things and get even MORE money for it?

**Trois Chapitre**

"…and so there are many matters of import for us to discuss…" droned Professor McGonagall.

They were already ten minutes into their third bi-monthly faculty meeting of the year and Hermione, ever studious, had come prepared with quill, ink and scroll. She'd appointed herself the Meetings Scribe ever since she'd learnt that, albeit her former professors had considered her the 'brightest witch of her age', they still thought her far too young to value any suggestions she made. Thus, to feel important and useful, she scribbled relentlessly everything that was said during the meetings.

"…certain changes to be made during this new school term as well as a new class, at Severus' suggestion, that I find will be beneficial to the—"

Ten minutes late, Draco Malfoy sauntered into the staff room appearing uncaring to the fact that the meeting was fully under way. He ignored Professor McGonagall's heavy frown and chose the empty chair besides Professor Flitwick who was frowning at him as well. Dropping into the chair, he smoothed back his hair from his forehead and Hermione's breath hitched. _Merlin, he looks so sexy and carefree whenever he does that._

_Focus, Hermione, focus!_

She mentally slapped her cheeks then resumed her writing when Professor McGonagall said in stern tones, "Well, it's nice that you deem it fit to join us, Mr. Malfoy."

"I apologise, Minerva," he replied with a smile. "I was waylaid by a student asking for advice on a certain spell. To ignore him would've been abysmal as a professor."

Professor McGonagall immediately softened as she was wont to do whenever Draco laid the charm on. Noticing this since the induction into professorship, Hermione and Lavender had found this surprising and suspicious, and Lavender had even gone so far as to tease Hermione about finding a rival in McGonagall for Draco's affections. Hermione had thought this ludicrous and borderline insane, but sometimes, such as today, she wondered whether Lavender was right. After all, it really was naïve of her past professor and current Hogwarts headmistress to believe such an obvious lie.

"Of course, I understand," Professor McGonagall nodded. "Never mind then. So long as you are here for we've matters to speak about especially concerning you and Miss Granger."

Hermione's head whipped up from her scroll. For a moment, she was horrified. Was Professor McGonagall aware of her feelings for Draco and was about to air the dirty laundry? Would the elder woman admonish her for her lovelorn behaviour as a Hogwarts professor amongst children of impressionable ages? Would she, along with the entire staff of Hogwarts, including her crush, be present to one of the most humiliating moments of her life?

Then common sense returned. No-one—well, besides Lavender—knew of her feelings for Draco Malfoy. Not even Professor McGonagall who was trying her best to imitate Dumbledore's omniscience. If anything, it may just be concerning their animosity towards one another. Even though Hermione had tried to be friendlier of late, it wasn't any great secret amongst the Hogwarts population how Professors Granger and Malfoy got on like angry dogs over a chicken bone whenever they were in company of each other.

No, it certainly wasn't her crush. Thank Merlin for that! And even if it was about their constant bickering, she could handle a bit of reproach.

"Granger and I, Minerva?" Draco repeated, sparing a short glance at Hermione before returning to stare at the headmistress.

Professor McGonagall gave a short nod then continued speaking. "A few days ago, Severus and I were discussing how woefully inept our current student body are at defensive and offensive spells." She raised her hand at Draco's frown as he opened his mouth to protest. "No, I am not blaming this on you, Mr. Malfoy. I am aware of your dedication to teaching and the students. It seems as though the students themselves are the problem.

They are not valuing Defence Against the Dark Arts. Ever since the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the ensuing peace in the Wizarding world, wizards and witches have begun to feel it unnecessary to learn and cultivate the ability to defend themselves."

Draco's face had tightened at the mention of Voldemort and the room had taken on a tense air. It was known, remembered and forgiven that Draco Malfoy had once been assigned the duty of murdering Dumbledore. Albeit he'd failed, the attempt alone had put a permanent scar against him in every Dumbledore-supporting mind. However, his defection from the 'Dark Side' and aid in the capture of escaped Death Eaters had allowed the Wizarding world to forgive him. But nobody had forgotten as yet and obviously he hadn't either.

Wanting to ease the tension, Hermione piped up, "So have you and Professor Snape thought of a way to correct this?"

"Indeed, we have," replied Professor McGonagall. "That is why I mentioned it concerns you and Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger. Professor Snape and I have decided to revive the Defence Against the Dark Arts Sparring Lessons in which you and Mr. Malfoy will host."

The impossibility happened: Hermione's quill point, usually sturdy for extensive note-taking, snapped.

"Malfoy and I, Professor?" Hermione asked in a shaky voice.

Professor Sprout chortled. "Minerva, dear, those two would hex each other's heads off at the drop of a hat. Do you think it wise?"

The remaining professors, excluding Snape and Lavender who were staring fixatedly at each other, murmured their agreements on Professor Sprout's statement. Hermione blushed with embarrassment and guilt whilst Draco leant back into his chair and appeared unconcerned.

"I do, Pomona," responded Professor McGonagall. "They were present to and survived the most terrifying Wizarding war that ever occurred. They are both very smart and in their youth. Our old bones would not be able to withstand a well-aimed Knockback jinx if it were to hit us."

The professors chuckled at Professor McGonagall's rare attempt at humour. Hermione just continued to blush.

"So, I will leave the drafting of lesson plans—" Professor McGonagall began only to be interrupted by a slightly wide-eyed Hermione.

"But Professor, surely you or…or Professor Snape will be more equipped to handle this job?"

"Nonsense, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said lightly. "I have faith in your abilities. Also, I am afraid that your task is compulsory and non-negotiable. I have checked everyone's schedules and have found that only the both of you have compatible free periods."

Hermione did not acquire the moniker 'know-it-all' for nothing. She was a diligent young woman prone to comprehensive research even into things that did not concern her. In short, she had the tendency to be nosy and ever inquisitive, she had learnt—and memorised, an incredible feat—every professor's teaching schedule. Thus, when taking into consideration Professors Lavender Brown, Pomona Sprout, Rolanda Hooch and even Severus Snape many, _many _free periods, she knew that Professor McGonagall was unquestionably, undeniably _lying_.

But why would she lie? Hermione thought. Why would her dear old idol pull the wool over eyes? Professor McGonagall telling fibs was like learning that Snape played 'dress-up' in women clothing. It was so absurd and just never done. But why? Her mind screamed. Find out now! It demanded. So she turned her head to gaze at the headmistress and caught the sneaky exchange between the older woman…and Lavender Brown.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Oh _no. _

Like rusty wheels being oiled, Hermione's mind slowly gained in deductions. Lavender Brown knew of her crush on Draco Malfoy. Professor McGonagall did not. Professor McGonagall was suddenly forcing her and Draco to conduct lessons together—fighting lessons, no less!—and she'd caught them. She'd caught them exchanging sneaky looks. So could it be, could it possibly, actually be that Lavender…that _Lavender_…no…Merlin-please-strike-her-dead…no. No!

She pinned Lavender with a steely, questioning, suspicious look and watched with horror as the young woman she'd considered her best friend and confidante shy away from her stare guiltily. Hermione nearly swooned from the mortification, her cheeks burning hot. She was vaguely aware of Madam Pomfrey noting aloud her reddened face and inquiring whether she'd caught something and she'd answered that she was fine. Through a haze, she watched herself agreeing quietly to become Draco Malfoy's Sparring Lessons partner and as Draco continued to appear impassive and indifferent.

But through it all, a little voice sang. Loud, clear and insistent, her little voice spoke to her, almost in singsong:

_I am going to kill you, Lavender. I am going to kill you. Kill. You. Dead._

* * *

In the end, she was unable to fulfill her heart's desire by strangling Lavender Brown until she became a lifeless Raggedy-Ann doll. Instead, she curbed her murderous intentions and settled for screaming at Lavender and threatening damaging, irreversible hexes. Lavender, who was aware of Hermione's ability, did not take those threats lightly, so the young Divination professor placated Hermione the best she could.

Hermione was told that Lavender was approached by Professor McGonagall. The older witch had been fed up of the arguments and jibes being hurled between Hermione and Draco and had requested Lavender's assistance to settle the problem. Lavender, bursting with excitement at an arisen opportunity in matchmaking, had confided in Professor McGonagall about Hermione's insane crush on Draco Malfoy.

"You should've seen her," Lavender said grinning. "Her eyes practically gleamed! I never knew McGonagall to be so devious."

Once again, Hermione learnt of yet another fib. It was not with Professor Snape McGonagall had concocted the idea for Sparring Lessons but with Lavender. The duo, of similar minds, Hermione was fast coming to realise, sat down with parchment and ink and began brainstorming the many ways they could throw Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy together.

"But I thought Hogwarts rules forbade relationships beyond a friendlier nature between professors," replied Hermione dubiously, pacified somewhat although she was still seething over Lavender's traitorousness.

"Oh it does," nodded Lavender, "but it seems McGonagall can turn a blind eye to the rules in the interest of love matches."

"Does she know about you and Snape?"

"No," Lavender tittered, "of course not."

Hermione's frown deepened but she said nothing.

Lavender knew Hermione was still angry. Thankfully, she'd saved her last method of mollifying. So standing, she grabbed Hermione wrists gently and said softly,

"But it isn't all that bad, Hermione. Look on the bright side. At least you'll be near him a lot more often now. Who knows if something might not develop in time?"

Hermione's anger stilled, her mind churning with possibilities and scenarios. Lavender was right. This was a wonderful opportunity that awarded her some semi-alone time with Draco. Merlin knew it could also be a curse. Draco was mean by nature and even more so towards her. There was no telling what a session of Sparring Lessons might do to her, especially if she was preoccupied with ogling Draco as she was apt to do these days. He'd take advantage of her inattention and hurl nasty hexes and jinxes at her. She was sure of it.

But still, added time with Draco Malfoy was good. Even if he hated her guts and would rather jump off a cliff than be in her company. He didn't seem to have minded when Professor McGonagall had made the announcement. Although silence and indifference weren't enough markers on whether he minded or not. Inside, he could've been livid beyond words, as she was when she'd learnt of Lavender's betrayal.

"But Lavender, he's still…he's still gay," Hermione bemoaned.

"Gay schmay!" Lavender replied offhandedly. "Have you been reading the book I lent you?"

Hermione's frown returned. "That book is a load of hogwash, Lavender. Honestly, how could such ridiculous suggestions even work?"

"Read it," the other witch demanded. "You'll need all the help you can get because, as I remember, you and Draco have free periods the day after tomorrow. You'll have plenty of time to practice until then."

"But Lav—"

"Read it!"

* * *

And so, it was on a balmy Thursday evening during the middle of May that Hermione Granger found herself with a class full of sixth year students in an abandoned classroom. Draco had not arrived yet so she was left to answer questions that weren't entirely her field of expertise. Why Draco had begun lessons with the sixth years was beyond her. She was fine repeating what her old textbooks had said but when challenged to perform particular complex spells, she excused herself with a curt response of waiting until everyone was present.

Eventually, Draco turned up looking slightly pink about the cheeks and his hair a tousled mess that rivaled even Harry Potter's constant bed-head. Behind him walked a tall, slim brown-haired Gryffindor sixth year student. His face was familiar as he took her History of Magic class and did exceptionally well, but some reason she could not remember his name. His face contained a faint pink hue as well, his lips swollen and looking as though he'd just been...

Hermione's brain stuttered to a halt. She switched her gaze sharply to Draco who was whispering something to the sixth year. With a nod of his curly, brown head, the sixth year joined his Gryffindor peers, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. No, it could not be. Her heart could only take so much surprises and disappointments in one week so it could not be. Certainly the Fates were not conspiring so heavily against her.

Draco regarded her with a cold look, his silver eyes like chips of ice. His face was still pink and his lips, on closer inspection, looked as though he'd just been…

_Kissed!_

"Granger," he said sharply and Hermione jumped slightly. "Stop your daydreaming and let's do this. I don't have time for your inattentiveness. I've got better things to do."

The Slytherin sixth years snickered whilst the remaining houses' students perked up with interest. Everyone was well aware of the infamous Malfoy-Granger War. The two hurled insults like no other, sometimes disregarding the fact that they were professors and ought to restrain themselves.

_Better things to do? Or better students to do? _Hermione's mind demanded in outrage. She wanted to feel righteous indignation that Draco Malfoy was presumably conducting some kind of sexual liaison with a student, which was strictly prohibited in Hogwarts. But her heart knew better. Her heart knew that she was jealous. Unequivocally so.

Hermione nodded, feeling gutted, "Let's begin, shall we?" At his nod, she didn't waste time. She immediately unearthed her wand and with fury and jealousy intermingled in her soul, she shouted, "_Flipendo!_"

Draco hadn't time to shield himself. He was hit squarely in the stomach by the jinx and the force of it flung him hard against the blackboard. Girls squealed with horror and excitement, boys howled with laughter. Then Draco rose to his feet, his eyes slits of anger as he brushed away the dust that had gathered on his robes.

Naturally, after each uttered spell, either Draco or Hermione were to turn and explain the purpose, the cause, possible counterattacks and the proper wand movement to initiate the spell. However, things had taken a turn for the worst. Hermione was in a fit of jealous rage towards Draco and Draco was furious that Hermione had bested—and humiliated—him on the first go. It spelled _war_.

Jinxes, hexes, curses and even charms were uttered and issued at the entertainment of the sixth years. But Draco was not the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts for nothing. Hermione's Knockback jinx had been her only successful attempt. From there, Draco tried to hex her with a vengeance indescribable.

Through the squeals and hollers of the students, a lone voice cried, louder than even the explosions of old desks and chairs being destroyed.

"Professors, stop this before I call the headmistress!"

A switched flicked in Hermione. She withdrew her wand in horrified mortification. To think she'd allowed herself to degenerate to such levels. To spar carelessly due to anger, frustration and jealousy. In all her years in Hogwarts, she'd yet to hear such a threat be directed at herself: I will call the headmistress. Indeed, she and the boys had gotten up to lots of mischief but that had all been for a cause. As a matter of fact, it was usually her announcing that she'd be on her way to tattle soon.

She turned to seek out who'd made the proclamation and found the same sixth year curly-headed boy glaring at the two of them.

"Honestly, that's really immature," continued the boy in admonishing tones that sounded eerily familiar.

She watched Draco soften, releasing his fighting stance to smile indulgently at the boy.

"You're right, Herman."

_Herman? _

She raised herself to stand respectfully as well. "Yes, Professor Malfoy and I apologise for our juvenility. We will try to conduct ourselves civilly in our next class. So, you needn't call the headmistress, Herman…?"

"Herman Ranger, Professor Granger. My name is Herman Ranger."

Hermione Granger's blood ran cold.

* * *

AN: Hope you all enjoyed it. Tell me what you think! Also, if you'd like to see the version of Draco I am writing, check the link for the picture in my profile page. :)

Thanks to everyone who reviewed:

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	4. Quatre Chapitre

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

**Quatre Chapitre**

Over the days following that one in which the first Sparring Lessons had occurred, Hermione decided to closely watch this 'Herman Ranger'. His name, far too similar to hers for her liking, incensed her beyond rationality and as she observed him she became ever more infuriated. As time wore on, she learnt something that both heated and chilled her blood at the merest remembrance. She'd forced herself into denial but had found her mind defiant in obscuring the truth. The revelation was there; it could not be avoided or denied.

Herman Ranger was the more popular, confident _male _equivalent of her.

And it grated. It really did.

The first and obvious comparison: their names. The second: he was in Gryffindor. The third: he excelled and was at the top of his class in _all_ of his studies—all _nineteen_ subjects _including_ Divination. The fourth: he'd been issued a time-turner. He was the only other student who'd been given that privilege ever since Hermione. The fifth: every teacher adored him, even Snape, who'd gone so far as to compliment the boy on a complex potion he'd brewed successfully—something Snape had never done for her. The sixth: he was a walking encyclopaedia but everybody thought it cool instead of annoying. The seventh: he'd been appointed as a Prefect, a unanimous idea between the professors. The eighth and the most horrifying: he had a mammoth crush on his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Draco Malfoy.

Oh the pain! The irony! The horror! The injustice of it all!

She doubted anyone truly knew of Herman Ranger's crush beside herself. After extensive stalki…err…_visual observations_, she'd noted the way the boy lighted up like a Christmas tree the moment he was in Draco's presence. From the professors' table in the Great Hall, she'd watch the way he'd sneak yearning glances in Draco's way. From her peeping through the DADA classroom door's cracks, she studied the way he'd blush rosily at Draco's touch whenever Draco assisted him in his wand movement. Even now, she could see—

"Professor Granger?"

Hermione sprang to her feet from her slight crouch. Her heart skipping beats, she backed away from the door like a woman burned.

"What is it? Why are you out of class?" demanded Hermione as she rounded on a blonde fourth year student who was giving her a questioning look.

"I'm not—" began the girl but she was cut off by Hermione's sharp accusation.

"Cutting classes, are you, missy?"

The girl's face morphed into horror. "No! I—"

"Oh no, we can't have truants here. Twenty points from—" Hermione eyeballed the girl's tie secured neatly at her throat, "—Hufflepuff. Now be on your way before I make it another ten." Tears welling in her eyes, the Hufflepuff fourth year made haste down the corridor.

Hermione breathed heavily. She felt awful for the way she'd just behaved. It was as though the mean spirit of Severus Snape had just inhabited her body. Why had she snapped at the girl? It wasn't as though the girl knew of her intentions. Behaving as she did had only served to raise suspicion now. Feeling a little low, she was about to head back to her rooms when the DADA classroom door swung open and revealed Draco Malfoy. Upon catching sight of her, he scowled.

"What are you doing here?"

She froze; her eyes wide like those of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. A long moment of silence ensued.

Draco's scowl deepened. "Answer me, Granger. What are you doing outside of my classroom?"

Her mouth worked but her brain refused to send the message it needed to utter aloud. It had been days since Draco Malfoy had so much as glanced her way yet here he was talking to her. This was a golden opportunity to gawk—and gawk she did. In the back of her mind, something scolded that she really ought to be ashamed of herself. It told her that she was behaving like a ridiculous love-struck thirteen year old instead of the sensible, confident twenty-three year old she was.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. Don't answer. But stop all that noise you're making. I heard you out here yapping away as usual and you were distracting my class."

Indignation redeemed her voice. "I was not _yapping_. A student was truanting and I paused to discipline her."

"Whatever," and he turned away and slammed the door closed in her face.

Hermione fumed all the way to her rooms, Draco's rudeness and brusqueness infuriating her into speechlessness. She was vexed with herself as much as she was with Draco. How she could yearn for a man so horrid was beyond her. Why had her heart betrayed the sensibilities of her mind? Why couldn't she have found herself besotted with a man like…like Severus Snape? After all, they had far more things in common than she did with Draco. It didn't matter that he didn't like her either. At least _he _was fond of women.

The blaze of her anger ebbed the moment she flung herself facedown onto her mattress. The force of her fall made slight undulations in the mattress, the momentary swaying and her ragged exhalation smoothed away her ire. Turning over onto her back, she stared unseeingly up at her ceiling. She ignored the cobwebs that had accumulated in various sections as her mind wandered down the familiar road of dejection. What was she to do?

Herman Ranger was a formidable adversary in garnering Draco's interest. He had the upper hand: he was a male and Draco liked males. Not only that, she'd caught them kissing. Well…she hadn't seen them at it but one could only deduce what they were up to. Indeed, it was a sickening thought that Draco would even fool around with a sixth year student. Wouldn't that boy be just about sixteen? He wasn't even an adult. How could Draco do such a thing?

She fiddled with the idea to report them. Herman Ranger would be brought down many pegs in the eyes of the student body and the professors. He'd definitely lose his position as a prefect and would not be considered for Head Boy in his seventh year. He might even be suspended. Out of sight, out of mind, thank Merlin.

But Draco…Draco would be fired on the spot. Professor McGonagall, as much as she'd come to adore Draco, would not tolerate such impropriety. He would not be offered an acceptable leave or to tender his resignation respectably. He would not receive sparkling references to attach to his résumé for future jobs. He would be banished and his awful deed would be made known. And, after having to fight hard to be accepted by the Wizarding world and clear his name from all Death Eater activities, his name and character would be dragged through the mud so viciously, it'd be best if he killed himself.

And, if he found out who'd tattled on him, it'd be best if Hermione killed herself too.

Besides, if Draco was fired then her purpose for snitching would be nullified. The reason she wanted to tattle was to sour Herman's image and possibly get rid of him.

Hermione slapped both hands against her cheeks. No, this would not do. She could not stoop so low as to sully someone's name all to 'eliminate the competition for Draco's love'. It was an awful, awful idea for an even more dreadful purpose. Since when had she become so devious? What was with her and her absurd obsession over Draco? It was as if he'd put her under some kind of spell or forced her to imbibe some kind of…of love potion!

_A love potion?_

She sat up slowly, slight horror coursing through her veins. Had Draco Malfoy used a love potion on her?

_Of course not! _

No, of course not. Amortentia robbed one of all their independent thoughts and actions and she was in possession in all of her faculties, mentally and physically. Besides, Draco did not like her; even the densest person could see that from the get-go. When a man disliked a woman, he did not secretly administer love potions to her meals so she could fawn all over him. He would abuse her verbally whenever he got the chance, he would ignore her entirely and if he decided to look her away, he'd make sure she saw the complete hatred that burned in his heart for her. That was what Draco Malfoy did. So no, of course he hadn't given her Amortentia or some such similar potion. This ridiculous infatuation had manifested itself out of nowhere.

If only Draco could be the same, she thought despairingly. If only Draco could return her feelings.

_But he can. He can if you use the love potion…_

No! To consider such an option was going too far. She would most certainly _not _use a love potion on Draco Malfoy. It reeked of desperation beyond even Voldemort's slavish explorations for immortality. She wouldn't do it!

_But what you're doing won't cause a war, it won't end lives. As a matter of fact, it will better lives, namely yours…and his…_

What about when the potion wore off?

_He'd be so accustomed to loving you he'll just keep at it even if the forceful influence of the potion is gone…_

Hermione didn't question things any further as she ought to. She was unaccustomed to impulsiveness due to her pragmatic and irrational-free lifestyle. She was a methodical and consistent woman prone to lists of pros and cons and do's and don'ts. Leaping before looking was not in her scope of things, thus, she was unfamiliar with this sudden pull. It was even safe to blame her following action on her befuddlement caused by her affections for Draco Malfoy. After all, love made many a men—and women—do very, _very _crazy things.

* * *

"Lavender!" cried Hermione breathlessly as she ran into the Divination classroom. The many flights of stairs tended to wind her and it was an added pro to why she despised Divination. "I…I need your help."

What was that sense of déjà vu? Why did she feel like she'd done this before?

Lavender lifted her head from the stack of parchments she had been perusing. She replaced the quill she held in the ink jar and wiped her blotted fingers on a napkin. Rising from her desk, she came to stand before Hermione, looking concerned.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

Hermione's face was immediately suffused with heat. She realised, belatedly, that asking for Lavender's help in this instance would showcase her dementia. To think brainy, proper Hermione Granger was scouting out ways to brew love potions—a thing she'd openly scorned in her school days. She felt like a hypocrite on top of the other negative emotions she harboured within herself.

She opened her mouth then closed it with an audible snap. She did not want Lavender to know, she was too embarrassed, albeit she needed the woman's help. Well, in actuality, she needed Snape's help. Brewing Amortentia was easy enough, if one wanted the schoolgirl's version. However, she wanted a powerful, long-lasting potion that would fell Draco's heart immediately and indefinitely and she knew of only one man who could brew such a potion of that capability.

She considered asking Snape herself but immediately discarded the idea. The incredulity on the man's face alone would shame her enough to live hermitically for the rest of her life. And she didn't even want to _hear_ what his response would be. So, no, she would not ask Snape himself. She needed his help, yes, but she would not ask him directly. Instead, she would ask his lover, her best friend.

Lavender opened her mouth but Hermione beat her to it.

"I…I need you to ask…to ask…" her voice faltered momentarily but she forced herself to continue. "I want you to ask Snape to brew me some Amortentia."

Lavender's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Amortentia? Hermione—"

"Please, Lavender, just ask him," Hermione pleaded. "I'm fed up of this. Maybe if I receive some attention in turn this…this _sickness _would go away."

The blonde young woman frowned, looking as though she wanted to argue with Hermione's justification but she said nothing. She was sorry for Hermione and her current circumstance. Being in unrequited love was horrible. It was the kind of emotion that burrowed deep into your heart and pestered your mind. She'd encountered such a love with Ron Weasley, whom, at the time, had been in love with the very same Hermione. She'd gone through the same aches and pains and she was aware of the inability to act intelligently in those moments.

However, Hermione Granger had feelings for Draco Malfoy. If ever there was an unfortunate situation, it had to be this one. To harbour a romantic interest for your school enemy was doubly horrible. Not only that, the man fancied men. It was just an impossible state of affairs. She was trying her best to help her friend despite her secret misgivings that anything would transpire.

No, she wouldn't say anything concerning this love potion business. If it didn't work, she'd try her best to comfort her friend. If it did, well, all the better. And from the set look of Hermione's face, she knew there was no discouraging the woman, anyway.

"Hermione, I don't think this is a good idea," she said, "but I'll try my best to get him to do it. Merlin knows what my excuse will be as to why I want a love potion when I'm already attached."

* * *

A week or so later, Hermione was given a palm-sized vial of Amortentia with a note scrawled angrily in Snape's handwriting on how to utilise it. Amidst the instructions were insults on Hermione's intelligence and even little remarks stating his disappointment that she'd stoop so low. Surprised that her identity had been revealed, she'd demanded an explanation of Lavender who'd replied sheepishly that despite her tall-tales that the potion was for a Divination study on Love, Snape had seen through it all.

Mortified and momentarily discouraged, she'd ignored the bottle of silken liquid and had gone yet another week of fighting her feelings and spying on Herman Ranger. When she couldn't stand it any longer, she gathered up her courage and promptly baked a cake. Once it was finished, she immediately sprinkled the entire baked product with one-third of the Amortentia potion despite Snape's instructions to be careful of liberal usage.

The walk to Draco's rooms was interminable. She felt like a prisoner walking her final walk to the executioner's lab where she'd be electrocuted or beheaded, so her paces were slow and stiff. She damned Hogwarts' rule forbidding Apparition within its castle's walls and long to pop immediately to her desired destination. But she was also happy for the walk because it delayed the inevitable.

What if he rejected the cake?

It was the one thought that cycled through her mind. It would be very characteristic of Draco to, upon finding her to be the one knocking at his door, slam it closed in her face rudely. It would also be typical of him, should he decide to keep the door open, to ask her in brusque tones her purpose for disturbing him in whatever he was doing. Her mind threw various scenarios of what would follow after her knock and none of them were positive.

_I've got to keep positive. Positive thinkers get positive results._

It was her private maxim. It had worked in her academics and it had worked in her career, so why wouldn't it work in her love life?

She was now in front of Draco's door. Manoeuvring the cake pan over her left forearm with the banana-nut cake nestled comfortably within, she lifted her right hand to knock on the door. For a moment, she just stood there with a cake pan perched precariously on one hand and a clenched fist held up in the air, as though she were one of those '80's activists saying, "Fight the power!"

_Just do it!_

Startled by the little scream in her head, she did as told and rapped softly on Draco's door. It seemed an eternity before he opened the door when in actuality it was only a few seconds.

"Granger," he answered, as though he'd been expecting her.

Hermione had lost her voice yet again. Draco Malfoy had an uncanny ability to leave her speechless and he hadn't failed tonight. Standing just inside his door, he was wearing his work trousers and a white shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and five of its seven buttons were unbuttoned, revealing to Hermione's greedy, greedy eyes Draco's chest and part of his abdomen. His hair had been pulled back into a hasty ponytail so a few strands in the front still fell into his face. He had one hand shoved into his trouser pocket and one hand on the doorknob and he looked the most relaxed Hermione had ever seen him.

She had the insane urge to jump him right then and there. Just pounce on him and devour him whole.

He smirked at her. "Prissy little Miss Granger, do you like what you see?"

She immediately averted her gaze from his midsection, her cheeks warming treacherously. "Of course not, Malfoy."

His smirk dissolved into a bored look. "Why are you here anyway? Every time I open my doors these days it seems you're always on the other side of it. Are you following me, Granger?"

Hermione blushed harder. "No, I'm not. I…I just came here to…to, well, show my appreciation."

"Show your appreciation?" he parroted in incredulous tones.

"Yes," she nodded, finally meeting her gaze with his and feeling pleasantly lost in the swirling greyness. "For…for upholding a professional image in front of the students during our Sparring Lessons."

She really hadn't thought this through, Draco's look of 'admit-yourself-into-a-mental-institution-now-please' told her so.

"Granger, I don't need your bloody appreciation," he replied coldly. "It takes all my effort to not hex you so you should be carrying your pointless words of thanks to Merlin, Himself, for holding me back."

"Malfoy, that is why I've come today," she said, grabbing her opportunity. "I really don't like this animosity between us. I think it's immature and we need to get past this if we want a thriving work environment."

There was no way Draco could look any more bored. "And I should care because?"

"Because…because it's a positive step forward," Hermione finished lamely. "Here, I've baked you a cake."

He sneered at the proffered cake pan. "No thanks."

"Why not?" Hermione persisted, on the verge of tears.

"It could be poisoned,"

Her voice threatened to fail her again. His guess was too close for her liking. "It isn't. Please take the cake."

"Why?"

"It's a peace offering. A gift of truce,"

"What kind of cake is it?"

"Banana-nut,"

"I don't like nuts,"

"Pick them out, then,"

He stared at her hard and Hermione felt like a tiny creature being scrutinised harshly under a microscope. She wanted to look away from him for fear he'd use Legilimency on her and find out her devious ways but she knew that ducking her gaze would evoke suspicion. Eventually, his face deepened into a scowl, he plucked the cake pan from her shaking hands.

"Granger, I don't know what your plan is and I don't believe your excuses for offering this cake," he said. "But if I find myself a ghost after taking a bite, you'd think Peeves was a summer's breeze by the time I'm finished with you."

And, as usual, he slammed the door in her face.

* * *

AN: Liked it? Didn't like it? Let me know. Hermione seems really OOC but I'm trying to keep her in character as much as possible. Sorry if there isn't much Draco/Hermione interaction as yet. Don't worry, though, there'll be more in the coming chapters…

Thanks to everyone's lovely reviews. They warm me up better than my heater during this abysmal winter cold! :)

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	5. Cinq Chapitre

AN: Chapter is unedited (typo errors may abound). Will be updated. Sigh.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling. Duh.

Disclaimer # 2: I don't own Marvin Gaye's songs or his lyrics either. Damn you, Disclaimer, for being a spoiler.

**Cinq Chapitre**

The love potion did not work.

She learnt this the following morning when, upon opening her door to head out for her third-year morning class, she found Argus Filch resplendent in an outdated, moth-eaten, washed-out dinner suit. The buttons were broken bits clinging tenaciously to the buttonholes, his trousers stopped just above his ankles, and he was holding a bouquet of wilted roses. He'd attempted to gel his wild hair, though it created a matted, bulky effect about his head, and he'd sprayed himself with cologne that smelled as if it had expired—if such a thing were even possible.

Hermione immediately took a few steps backwards, the awful smell of the cologne forcing her to cough and choke. She covered her nose but Argus Filch did not seem to notice her repulsion. He was smiling the biggest smile she'd ever witnessed on the man, his yellowed and malformed teeth an abomination to her eyes. And he was ogling her, a maniacal gleam in his eye that only occurred whenever he contemplated student-torture, as though she was one of his greatest dreams made into reality.

"H-here you go, my pretty…my pet," he rasped, thrusting the dying, meagre bunch of blackening roses into her face. "These are for you, darling!"

Oh no.

Oh Merlin, Circe, God, Whatever-Great-Deity-That-Existed-Purely-To-Use-Their-Name-In-Vain no.

He advanced forwards, the roses coming closer to her face, their sickeningly sweet smell intermingling with Filch's expired fragrance and causing nausea to roil unpleasantly in her stomach and in her throat. She was about to step back again but realised that retreating within her rooms would lead him in as well, so she skittered away to the side, closing her door in the process.

"My darling, my love," Filch continued. "You are my sweet! That is why I brought you these flowers! They represent you…but you are much, much sweeter!"

Filch's wide grin was unwavering and his eyes remained shiny with adoration. His gnarled, calloused hands gripped the covered stems of the roses, squeezing out whatever remaining life they had within them. As she sidled away, he followed her, never relenting from brandishing the bouquet.

"These are to show you my love for you, my pet!" announced Filch. "My complete and undying love for you, my sweet, sweet Hermione!"

What was she to do? This was a nightmare brought to horrifying reality. Here she stood just outside her room with Argus Filch—_Argus Filch_ of all persons—professing his 'undying love' for her as he reeked similarly of something that had been dead for months, shoving a pitiful bunch of near-dead roses in her face. Indeed, it was a nightmare come true; an awful one at that.

"And I know you love me, too, my dumpling!" jabbered on Filch. "Or you would not have given me such a delicious cake to feast on! To think my beautiful sweetpea can create such wonders from her very hands!"

Delicious cake? _Delicious cake? _

_Draco._

A riot of emotions welled within Hermione but of the lot, anger held supremacy. She'd devoted time, energy and dollops of love to bake that cake and the ingrate she'd presented it to had, in turn, passed it over uncaringly to the Hogwarts' gamekeeper. She'd sprinkled the cake heavily with Amortentia with devious intentions to make him fall madly and helplessly in love with her and he'd dismantled her plans without the knowledge of doing so.

Maybe he did?

What if he'd performed some sort of test on the cake and had discovered the hidden potion? After all, he was the DADA professor; it was his duty to protect against unsuspecting harm. Also, much to her surprise, she'd learnt that Draco Malfoy, while she'd blindly glorified in being number one, had been pretty close behind her as the student with the second best scores. Draco Malfoy was no dunce; acquiring a position as a DADA professor at his age was testament to that fact.

"'As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, my exquisite cookie! So deep in love am I!'" read Filch from a scrap of parchment.

Ashamed, dismayed and wrapped up in her own thoughts, she ignored Filch's continuous adulations. If Draco had found out about the Amortentia-laced cake then there was no wonder to his counteraction. He was spiteful and evil enough to have given Filch the cake, aware of the embarrassing repercussions it would cause instead of calling her out on her scheming and sneaky tactic. It would be just like him, the ferret.

"Roses are red! Violets are blue! Even if Mrs. Norris was human, I'd still choose you!" sang Filch heartily.

But Merlin! Filch and his presently ongoing love ballads paled in comparison to Draco knowing what she'd done. How could she face him? The thought of his sneer of disgust and him lobbying heart-slicing insults sickened her. His complete disregard for her had been painful, his rudeness stinging. However, with knowledge of her feelings for him, there was no doubt he'd go to great lengths to make her life an unendurable hell. He'd been under the tutelage of Snape and had learnt the art of venomous, soul-breaking, tear-reducing remarks and insults.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways, my sugarplum!" cried Filch. "I love thee more than the chains and whips and garrotes—"

This snapped Hermione back into the present. With one last look of revulsion, Hermione scampered away from Filch's clutching hands. For a moment, he pursued her despite the many turns and backtracks she took. Eventually, regaining her intelligence, she cast a Disillusionment charm upon herself, successfully hiding her whereabouts from the Squib that was Argus Filch. Breathing a sigh of relief, she headed for her class, anxious that she was more than five minutes late for her class. As a professor, she demanded punctuality and despised tardiness and truancy. She was aware of the double-standard playing out today and did not like it.

Arriving at her class, she apologised to her students and forced herself to forget all about Draco Malfoy's spitefulness and Argus Filch's romantic ardency towards her. She had more important matters to deal with, namely the proper education of her students. Besides, agonising over her current situation would only make matters worse for her.

_But really, can anything be worse than Draco discovering that I'm smitten with him?_

Oh yes, things certainly _could_ be worse and she was about to realise this soon enough.

* * *

During an afternoon History of Magic class discussion on the serial killer, Barlo the Boring—a wizard who'd been known to bore people to _actual _death and had purposely set about to utilise this dubious power—the classroom door was suddenly flung open with a loud bang. A few students cried out but the general air was of startled fright as everyone turned in the direction of the noise.

There, in his dirty, holey and ill-fitting dinner suit, stood Argus Filch with his bouquet of now-dead roses in one hand and the same wide grin on his face.

"My sweet-bun! I have found you at last!" cried Filch exuberantly. "I have been searching everywhere for you, my lovely!"

The students' fright was swept away by a tidal wave of humour; their previous open-mouthed expressions of fear morphed into lips pulled back in laughter. But there was nothing funny about this to Hermione. There was nothing hilarious about this situation whatsoever.

"Hermione, my love!" continued Filch as he advanced within the classroom.

All thirty-two fifth-year student heads pivoted on their necks to stare at Professor Granger in a mixture of hilarity and shock.

"Mr. Filch, please return to your duties and desist from interrupting my class," demanded Hermione as sternly as possible as she strode to where he stood.

"I cannot leave until I have sung you this song, my carrot-cake!" proclaimed Filch as he retrieved a folded parchment from his breast pocket. He unfolded the note and promptly began his song: "'I've been really tryin' baby! Tryin' to hold back this feelin' for sooo long!'"

No. Oh good Merlin no. Not that, anything but that.

A chorus of laughter began amongst the students. Girls shrieked while holding the stomachs and the boys shook violently while slapping their thighs and knees. Everyone had tears in their eyes. The outrageous vision being played out before their eyes was too much to bear. Argus Filch singing Marvin Gaye's 'Let's Get it On' in his rasping, out-of-tune voice had irreparably broken the hilarious barometer.

Sadly, it had broken Hermione's own mortification barometer. There was no salvaging of her pride from this.

"And if you feel like I feel!" rasped Filch as he read from his parchment. "Then come on, oh! Come on! Whoo! Let's get it—"

She just could not allow him to finish it. Many students had fallen off their chairs in side-splitting laughter now and she knew her face was an angry red from embarrassment. So she aimed and fired a Silencing Charm at Filch then frog-marched him, despite his horrid odour and his attempts to kiss her, out of her classroom.

"Class dismissed!" she declared on her way out in a quavering voice.

* * *

News of Argus Filch's comical disturbance during History of Magic spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts. By dinnertime, everyone—professors included—was aware of what Filch had done and were on the lookout for the caretaker and his current love interest. It wasn't everyday that a mean-spirited, spiteful, bitter old man like Filch sang songs of love aloud in public. And ever since the Draco-being-gay revelation, Hogwarts gossip-mill had been dry and wanting so this was _news_.

Whilst everyone were in the Great Hall enjoying their dinner and discussing the event of earlier, Hermione was in her room agonising over her failed attempt at gaining Draco's love. She was upset with Argus Filch for embarrassing her and furious with Draco for feeding Argus the cake that was initially intended for him. But most of all, she was angry with herself for it was only herself she could blame. Had she not succumbed to desperation, she might have been presently enjoying her dinner as she snuck admiring glances at Draco.

After she'd placed the Silencing Charm on Filch, she'd led him back to his own quarters and had performed a simple spell to prevent him from escaping and finding her again. She was thankful that Filch was a Squib as even a third-year had the capability of breaking her charm but she was safe in the knowledge that Filch had no magical abilities. She hoped that, despite the hefty dosage she'd placed on the cake, the Amortentia would have worn off by tomorrow.

_Does Draco know? Did he find out? Would he know it was me who laced the cake with Amortentia?_

These were the questions that circled through her anxiety-wracked mind. Her embarrassment today paled in comparison to the one she would encounter when face to sneering face with Draco Malfoy. Indubitably, he'd learnt of what Filch had done. As Lavender had said, the gossip-mill and its mongers were formidable. He must have even heard of it moments after her class had dismissed.

But what about the student body? Were they aware that Filch was under some kind of influence? Was it noticeable? Of course, Filch's behaviour was extraordinarily uncharacteristic. How could they not see it? Did Professor McGonagall hear? Did _Severus Snape _hear?

She buried her face as deep as possible into her pillows to block the rush of horror, fear and, of course, humiliation that attacked her. What a pickle she'd placed herself in. Why hadn't she thought this through? Why hadn't she factored in the possibility of her plan backfiring thick, black smudge into her face? Merlin, what was she to do?

She just could not face anyone right now. Professor McGonagall was aware of her crush on Draco Malfoy and might have made additions in her head but Severus Snape…oh dear. He'd been the one to make the potion. He wouldn't need to make additions or deductions or conclusions. He'd know. And he'd make it his business to utter scathing, derogatory remarks on her intelligence as he was apt to do. Only, he'd have more than cause to do so.

And Lavender…she couldn't face Lavender either. Just imagining her friend's sympathetic tones and her azure eyes filled with pity and a little doubt concerning her sanity was probably the worst to stand. It would be her undoing. She would bawl as she really wanted to do at this moment.

_What am I to do? Should I resign?_

She pondered handing in her resignation secretly and silently then leaving the Wizarding world for good. She imagined a life amongst Muggles once more, possibly bereft of magic and its wonderfulness. Then she swatted away her melodramatic imaginings and reigned in her thoughts. She was not going to resign. She loved her job and she loved magic. Resigning was not an option.

_Just face the music._

Just face the music, as her mother always said whenever faced with a seemingly unsolvable obstacle. How one can 'face the music' was beyond her and many times she'd teased her mother with this question but she knew the general meaning. Just get it over and done with, no matter how hard it appeared, just do it.

Her stomach grumbled as if in assent. Just do it! Feed me now! Just face the music of my grumblings!

_But I can't…I just can't face anybody right now…_

_Just face the music!_

She stood, uncertainty disallowing her from moving any further. So maybe she could do it. Maybe she could face the entire Hogwarts student population, the professors, including Snape and McGonagall, and Lavender. Maybe she can face everyone and laugh along with them about Filch's ridiculous behaviour. But could she face Draco Malfoy? The one who's opinion mattered most right now? Could she really?

She sat back on her bed. No, she could not.

Her stomach protested angrily.

As much as it displeased her, she decided she'd utilise her professor's benefits and call for an elf to her rooms. Midway through her one-woman meal of mashed potatoes, roast beef with a side of steamed broccoli and carrots, she heard a sharp knock on her door. Her head whipped up from her plate as she gripped her fork tightly. Who could it be?

The person knocked again, more insistently. She rose from her seat, musing grumpily that whoever was at her door was an impatient, inconsiderate sod.

Opening her door, she found Draco Malfoy standing before her, his usual smirk in place.

"Hello, Granger."

As apt of Hermione in Draco's presence, she was frozen silent.

"Such a devious little minx, aren't you, lacing that cake with Amortentia," he continued. "Tsk, tsk, tsk…and you claimed it was a _peace offering."_

Then his smirk was dropped, leaving his face a cold, mean mask and his eyes turned the colour of flint. Hermione was suddenly aware that he was angry. Very much so.

"What had you hoped to accomplish, Granger?" he demanded icily, taking a threatening step forwards. "I thought you were smart enough to realise that Amortentia is easily detectable by smell alone. After all, you're the most annoying swot that ever existed."

He stepped forwards again and Hermione was forced to step backwards for he had invaded her personal space and Draco Malfoy in her personal space did exceptionally funny things to her.

"Really, Granger, answer me," he continued in that deadly tone of voice. "What was the outcome you had envisioned?" He took another step. "Me acting just as Filch, like a fool?" And another step. "Did you want me singing you songs so you and everyone could point and laugh at Draco Malfoy?" Yet another step. "Aren't you all tired of making a mockery of me? Aren't you all tired of judging me? Aren't _you_ tired, Granger?"

She'd been aimlessly stepping backwards and hadn't been aware where she was headed. Realisation came to her when she found her back against a solid wall and she knew she'd stepped right back into one of the side walls of her small entrance.

"Draco, I'm not…I don't judge you," she said softly, very aware of his proximity.

"Oh, yeah?" his tone unbelieving. "Tell me, Granger, I want to hear why you placed Amortentia on that cake."

_Because I'm smitten with you and want you to be mine._

If only she had the courage to say that.

"I…I…" she choked on her own words, unable to come up with a plausible lie.

"You did it to humiliate me," supplied Draco angrily. "End of story. But, ha ha, joke's on you, isn't it? I'm sure the medicine was bitter to you as well."

"Draco, please…" she began.

"What's this familiarity I hear?" he queried in icy tones. "I don't think I like it very much, just as much as I don't like you."

He lifted his hand and settled it around her throat. His hand was warm but it seemed to scald her skin. He did not squeeze but the threat was implied all the same. He bent his head so his eyes could be level with hers; their lips mere centimeters apart. Her lips tingled from his breath as he spoke,

"Don't mess with me, Granger. Really. Don't do it. I don't like to be played with."

And he was gone, out of her living quarters, slamming _her _door in her face.

* * *

AN: Mean Draco! Bad Draco! Tell me, my lovelies, what do you think about this chapter? I'm not sure if I'm satisfied with it but I hope your opinions differ!

Thanks muchly to you wonderful, wonderful readers who took the time out to review. As an effort to give back as you've given so much already:

: CheshireCat23 : BlueMizuki : sarah : beautifly92 : PrettyChelsea : Alliy : Ashlee : Vesper : Sapphire1031 : compa16 :


	6. Six Chapitre

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling. Honestly, I don't. -:shifty eyes:-

Disclaimer #2: I do not own the lyrics of Michael Jackson's _'Thriller'_ or George Michael's _'Careless Whisper'_. I only like to sing along to them in off-key notes…

**Six Chapitre**

The 'Filch Debacle' soon recessed to the back of everybody's minds as May slipped by and as end-of-term examinations begun. Hermione was the happiest of the lot, thankful that she hadn't been forced into premature retirement, and that she was no longer the object of the entire school's interest. Whilst the humiliation had ebbed with time, despite Snape's occasional scathing reminder, she was still very uncomfortable whenever in Draco's presence.

Mercifully, she only ever saw Draco at meal times or, on the rare occasion, whenever she was transferring classes. Even then, she'd reduced their encounters further by taking her meals in her rooms. Embarrassment played a hefty part in her decisions, but more so guilt. She was disgusted with her desperate behaviour and her lack of forethought, and every time her mind replayed their encounter in her entranceway, she was overrun with remorse.

She finally understood the selfishness of her actions.

You could not _force _someone to love you. Love could only manifest itself naturally. How could she have believed Amortentia to be her salvation when it only induced feelings of adoration, and not love? But no, her real intention hadn't been love. She'd wanted reprieve. She'd wanted just a tiny bit of requital: a smile her way, a laugh at her jokes…maybe a passionate snog…

Merlin, her intelligence really had deserted her, along with her sensibilities! She definitely needed to be careful lest she made a similar mistake. Snape would taunt her incessantly—right to her grave—if that happened. This obsession she had for Draco Malfoy was dangerous and she needed to get it in check. Mistakes were meant to be learnt from; consequences were meant to be observed.

_Aren't you tired of judging me?_

She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. The image of Draco's twisted, scowling face and the sound of his rasping accusation plagued her doggedly. Wasn't she tired of judging him? What did he mean by such a thing? In all her years knowing Draco Malfoy, she had never been the jury, but the accused. Always the 'Mudblood'; the 'ugly little bookworm'; the 'annoying swot'; the 'bucktoothed bitch'.

So how could she be tired of it? Wasn't _he _tired of judging _her?_

Who was the one trying their utmost best to start a friendship? Who was the one attempting friendly conversation? Who was the one putting themselves out there to be approached? And yet, who was the one facing rejection and insults and sneers time after time? Who was the one suffering from unrequited infatuation? Her, her and her! All bloody her on all bloody counts!

She exhaled raggedly, her heart constricting painfully. Why had such a plight befallen her? And why was she so adamant in wallowing in her sorrow? Unrequited love was a common occurrence, wasn't it? She was not the first to experience it, neither was she the last. Maybe focusing her energy in gaining Draco's attention was not the way about things. Maybe she needed a distraction. Someone else to occupy her mind and shunt the incessant thoughts of Draco to the side. Maybe she needed a new love interest…

But who? There was nobody remotely dateable besides the unattached Draco Malfoy. The majority of the Hogwarts staff were female, and the remaining males were either unattractive (Flitwick), unattainable (Snape) and unbearable to even consider (Filch). Where was she to find someone eligible? Someone who was so handsome, charming and _nice _that he'd decimate any good points—if there was any—in favour of Draco?

She was so submerged in her misery that, at first, she didn't hear the light tapping on her window pane. Thoughts of abject failure and a doomed life of want for a man that hated her swallowed her. But the tapping gained persistence and she jumped a little in her seat. Turning to the sound, she saw a parchment folded into an airplane bobbing and weaving in mid-air just outside her window.

With haste, she went and opened her window. When the parchment sailed in, it landed neatly on her table. She picked it up and unfolded it. The parchment was a missive from Professor McGonagall:

_Miss Granger,_

_There is an important meeting to be held within the staffroom at 8pm tonight. Please be on time. _

_Yours truly,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

She frowned slightly as she refolded the parchment into neat squares. Why was there another staff meeting being held so soon? Did it concern her mishap with the Amortentia? Was this a missive calling her to be disciplined? Was she going to lose her job?

Panic seized her temporarily before she forced herself to calm down. Logic kicked in and pacified her. It told her that had the letter been a portent of unemployment, it would have said just that, and Professor McGonagall would have signed it off with a stiff, 'Headmistress McGonagall.' No, she was not about to be fired. Thank Merlin.

_But I wonder what it's all about…_

* * *

At fifteen minutes to eight, Hermione entered the staffroom with parchment, quill and inkbottle in hand. Smiling politely at Professors Flitwick and Sprout, she made her way to her usual seat to wait on the others. She contemplated asking the two professors who were jabbering away about werewolf rampages whether they knew the details of the meeting, but decided not to interrupt them.

Not too long after, Professor McGonagall made her entry, and from there, the remaining professors followed in behind her. Draco Malfoy was the last to arrive, and from then on, she kept her head bent, her eyes finding new interest in the blank parchment she'd brought. Although she knew Draco wouldn't give her moment's glance, she didn't want to risk meeting his gaze nonetheless.

"Now," began Professor McGonagall as she sat stiffly upright in her chair. "As we all know, the end-of-term exams will be completed come the following two weeks."

A mumble of affirmative was heard amongst the room.

"By the end of June," she continued, "most of the students will be homebound for their summer holidays. However, due to a recent discussion between myself and Miss Brown…"

Hermione's head whipped up, her gaze honing in on Lavender. The blonde witch was stubbornly avoiding her eyes, though, and a sinking, heavy feeling developed in the pit of Hermione's stomach. This was eerily reminiscent of those damned Sparring Lessons she'd been muscled into overseeing with Draco Malfoy. All of a sudden, an ominous feeling settled like an unwanted blanket around her.

"…I have decided to introduce something new to Hogwarts. A little, pleasant send-off, if you will," finished the headmistress with a rare smile.

"What are you planning, Professor?" asked Hermione, trying to mask the nervous twang in her voice.

Professor McGonagall's twinkling gaze alighted on Hermione. "Funny that you ask, Hermione, as you will be an integral part of this new plan."

Dread increased tenfold. "But, what am I to do? What is it about?"

"This year, we will be hosting a graduation party for the seventh years!" Professor McGonagall announced with uncharacteristic gleefulness. Then she turned to Hermione, eyes twinkling. "And you, Miss Granger, will be the planner of the proceedings…"

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, barely ingesting this bit of news before Professor McGonagall continued:

"…and Mr. Malfoy will be your assistant."

* * *

Silence.

It persisted and pervaded within the almost empty staffroom like a comforter being used during hot, stifling summer nights. Although, fundamentally, silence was silent, it seemed to have attained a loud, beating sound not unlike the steady whacking of a drum. Boom, boom, boom! Bam, bam, bam! These were the sounds of the silence that filled the staffroom which Professors Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy presently occupied.

Or, Hermione thought, it could just very well be the sound of her heart slamming against her ribs.

After Professor McGonagall's grand announcement, Hermione had followed the rest of the meeting only barely. She'd managed to scribble the important bits concerning the party's funding and the signed agreement of Professor Flitwick for Charms work but that was it. To recall what had been said before and after those events was impossible.

Currently, her emotions were a jumbled mess. She was simultaneously angry at and happy with Lavender and Professor McGonagall's scheming, and uneasy yet pleased with being left alone with Draco. Casting furtive glances at the blond man, she wondered what he thought concerning their present situation. No doubt they were of the 'pissed-off' variety judging from his scowling face.

She couldn't blame him. Who would enjoy being forced to spend time with one's enemy? Who'd want to be issued an assistant position to someone one absolutely loathed?

And, although she was aware of Professor McGonagall's ulterior motives, wasn't the planning of a graduation party a tiresome ordeal? Why foist it on the shoulders of two, when there were so many others who could share the burden? Why wasn't Lavender, the one who'd suggested the idea in the first place, a part of this newly dubbed 'Planning Committee'?

This really was unfair. She was strapped as it was with homework to mark, lessons to plan, notes to pore over, and researches to be done. Also, she'd been about to make new headway in the romance department. Attaining Draco's interest was a futile endeavour. Instead, she was to find some bloke so handsome, he'd wipe all images of Draco Malfoy clean off of the slate of her brain. Now that plan was ruined.

The harsh scraping of chair legs against the wooden floor returned her to the present and she looked up and found Draco heading towards the door.

"Where are you going?" she called in a panic, rising from her own chair as well.

"For some much needed fresh air," he said snidely, turning to face her. "Being in here makes me sick."

"I doubt you'll feel any better wherever _you_ go," she retorted cattishly before she could stop herself.

"I beg to differ, Granger," he replied. "So long as you're not in the vicinity, I think I'll feel just fine."

"Likewise," she lied. "Professor McGonagall must really be off her rocker to have paired me with you, you sanctimonious _pig_."

"Indeed, she may be to have paired me with the likes you, you ugly little Mud—" he began before he cut himself short.

For no good reason whatsoever, Hermione felt tears sting her eyes.

"Say it," she whispered.

His face had gone straight; impassive, unreadable.

"Say it, you bastard, say it!" she said harshly, whipping her wand out. "You filthy coward! Why don't you speak your mind, Malfoy? Say I'm an ugly little _Mudblood_."

The silence returned, only more uncomfortably tensed. Hermione, teetering on the edge to cry, stared hard at Draco, feeling absurdly betrayed. Her wand hand trembled as she gazed at his still yet handsome face. How could she have feelings for him when he could hurt her so horribly without a care? How could she want a man who genuinely hated her for what she was and not—as she'd come to stupidly believe—because 'old habits died hard'?

She turned away from him, her vision blurry with tears she could hold back no longer as she hastily grabbed at her parchment and inkbottle. A bit of the ink spilled but she didn't care. Spinning around, she found him still standing there, but she didn't care about that too. Instead, she ducked her head and left the room, and left behind all notions that she was infatuated with Draco Malfoy.

* * *

The following two weeks, Hermione attempted to exorcise all feelings for Draco Malfoy from her heart. Like a crazed woman, she had thrown herself heavily into work and the sole planning of the graduation party. Remarkably and single-handedly, she had managed to acquire and set-up the necessities for the party without Draco's help, and without Professor McGonagall's knowledge that Draco wasn't assisting her.

During those two weeks, she had confined herself within her rooms or within the library. She did not take her meals in the Great Hall, and at Lavender's inquiry, she'd pleaded busyness. In that time, she had seen Draco twice, and on both occasions, she'd passed him by without a glance of acknowledgement. And, as much as she'd been tempted to see if he he'd been watching her—though she doubted he did, the nasty sod—she had held fast to her determination.

The day of the graduation party arrived and, after a final check-up on the decorations with Professor Flitwick and the catering with the elves, she sent a quick missive to the headmistress confirming that everything was proceeding well as planned. Despite doing most of the work on her own, she was still exceedingly grateful to the other professors for lending a hand wherever necessary.

Albeit the party had been arranged to begin at seven, Hermione started getting ready at five. It was a formal-dress affair where one had to look their absolute best and Hermione was not going to disappoint. She'd bought a beautiful satin emerald dress with a plunging neckline, and a pair of the most divine silver heels she'd ever laid eyes on. Wizarding dress robes were out and Muggle evening gown was definitely in.

Through Lavender's previous tutoring, she applied light make-up, a bit of lip-gloss, and tamed her wild hair into soft curls that she left free and unbound. She was fed-up of screwing them up into ponytails due to its bushiness, but now that they'd been Sleakeasy'd into submission, she could afford to let them fall down her back.

When her preparations where complete, she surveyed herself in her bedroom mirror, highly unsure of herself. She'd attached a simple silver necklace with a pendant that dangled just about the cleft of her breasts around her neck, and matching dangly silver earrings to her ears. The only jewellry on her hand was a silver watch. It was only after she'd secured an emerald chiffon shawl around her bare shoulders that she realised what she'd done:

She'd dressed like a Slytherin. All silver and green.

_Merlin, what am I to do?_

Should she undress and wear something else? No, she had no time! It was already half past six! She had to be down within the next ten minutes to discuss other minor details with Professor Flitwick and the music band. Should she perform some kind of transfiguration on the dress? Turn it red or blue or maroon?

_No, I like this colour…_

Something seemed to whisper in her ear. And on the heels of that thought came another:

_He'll like this colour…_

There was no question as to who 'he' was and Hermione was vexed with herself. After all this time, she'd still not got over that inane crush of hers. She warred with transfiguring the dress to satisfy herself or keep the dress the way it was to satisfy the inner idea that Draco would like it. And when she had finally decided to keep on what she currently wore, she made excuses for herself that Draco Malfoy was gay, anyway, and that he would not care whether she wore his house colours or whether she went to the party in her birthday suit.

* * *

An hour and a half in, and Hermione knew that the party was a success. She was standing by the Great Hall entrance doors where the crowd was sparse, quietly enjoying The Joy Boy's—an up and coming Wizarding music band consisting of three males and a fourth androgynous member—rendition of Michael Jackson's 'Thriller'. It was insanely good, as the aforementioned androgynous member's voice sounded disturbingly similar to Michael Jackson's. And it was obvious that the seventh years thought so too, as they all laughed as they danced to the catchy beat.

She'd already received many words of awe and compliment concerning both the party and her dress, and she confessed herself very pleased. Sipping at her wine, she surveyed the Great Hall, smiling at Professor Flitwick's animated dancing which was drawing cheers from the seventh years.

Everything was going very well until, suddenly, the music died away, and Professor McGonagall mounted the transfigured podium where the singers occupied.

"I've created a little game," began the headmistress.

At these five words, Hermione's high spirits began to flag. This was not going to be good…for her.

"I'm aware that, despite your seven years within these walls, a good many of you have not taken the time to interact with others outside of your house. Thus, I've created a little dancing game that would facilitate a final get-to-know before you leave Hogwarts…"

Hermione exhaled with relief. She was safe. Thank Merl—

"…and I would like the professors to participate as well."

_Oh no._

With a swish of her wand, Professor McGonagall produced a fat glass bowl filled with strips of parchment. With another swish, the slips of parchment erupted out of the bowl like rockets let loose, and they sailed every which way to all those who occupied the Great Hall. She heard girls giggling and boys chuckling as they each caught their slips.

Because she knew what would be on her slip, Hermione turned eastward, with all intentions to flee the Great Hall for her rooms. She'd barely made a few steps forward before her slip zoomed right into her face. She tried batting it away like a bothersome fly, but the thing persisted. It jabbed and prodded at her hands, determined to be accepted.

She retrieved her wand, ready to burn the piece of parchment to ashes when Professor McGonagall's voice rang out across the room.

"Please accept your slips, everyone. Failure to do so will result in a very nasty surprise!" announced the witch gaily, and Hermione was convinced that Professor McGonagall had had one too many glasses of wine.

Hermione watched unhappily as Professor McGonagall bent and whispered something into the lead singer's ears, and then as the matron sauntered off with a self-satisfied smile on her face. When had the woman become so scheming and manipulative? Why had Hermione not notice this side of her professor before?

The parchment had elevated its attack by attempting to slap her face, so angrily, she grabbed it. Of course, written in a spidery scrawl on its surface was _his _name and before she knew it, she felt a binding magic wrap around her wrists as the parchment disappeared. Suddenly, like having a compass within her, Hermione just knew where Draco Malfoy was.

Cutting through the crowd as the others sought their respective partners, she found him lounging against the western wall of the Great Hall. He was dressed very handsomely in a black dinner suit, a white shirt underneath with the accompanying compulsory green tie with silvery embellishments, and a shiny pair of black shoes that looked expensive. He'd done something to his hair—brushing them, perhaps—as they weren't as wild as they usually were, but his new 'do did not detract from the rake-my-fingers-through-his-hair appeal for Hermione.

Standing there, with one hand casually stuck in a trouser pocket, he'd been staring up at the podium where the singers where readying themselves to play another song. On the ground, before his shiny shoes, was his parchment which he'd Petrified. She'd begun to admire this ingeniousness when his parchment broke free of the curse and began attacking him.

"You should take it or it'll never stop," she said quietly.

He turned, obviously startled to find her standing just mere inches away.

"I don't want to dance," he said, those twin pools of silver piercing her, enthralling her despite it all.

"Me neither," she answered, "but I've already accepted my fate."

He smirked. "You sound as though you'd rather have said 'accepted my demise'."

"Same difference to me," she replied lightly.

He said nothing, only stared at her before he did the most surprising thing. Standing before him, she watched as his gaze dropped from her face and meandered its way down her body and slowly back up, halting momentarily to eye the broach that held the see-through chiffon together over her exposed cleavage. Shocked to the core, and not unpleasantly so, she stood ramrod straight beneath his inspection.

Quietly, he grabbed his dancing parchment at the same moment that one of the members of the band struck up a sultry note with a saxophone, and another began with his percussions. Hermione recognised the tune instantly, even amidst her amazedness as Draco extended his hand towards her to dance. It was George Micheal's 'Careless Whisper'.

With his astounding, copy-cat voice, the androgynous lead singer began singing the first stanza of the song in a silken, melodious voice that entranced her even as Draco—_Draco Malfoy!—_wrapped his arms around her waist, splaying his palm against her back. She was suddenly enveloped by him, and the scent of his cologne that enticed her to snuggle closer.

_Why is he doing this? Why did he look at me like that? What's going on?_

"You've got to put your hands on my shoulders, Granger," he said quietly. "We can't dance if your hands are stiff at your sides."

She looked up at him, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say. He was looking down at her, his eyes dark, his face unreadable. What was he thinking? Why was he willingly holding her in his arms?

Lifting her arms, she settled them lightly and unsurely on his shoulders as he joined his other hand with the first behind her back. Like this, their bodies were pressed close—but not too close—as they swayed from left to right in time to the sweet notes of the saxophone.

They danced for the duration of the song, Hermione's cheeks rosy as she stared defiantly at the spot where his tie was secured at his throat. She could feel his gaze on the top of her head, but more so, she could feel his firm hands against her flesh as he held her. Through the satiny material of her dress, his touch warmed her and when, almost imperceptibly, he'd smoothed his hand along her waist, it invoked the stirrings of desire…

_Merlin, I want him. Despite it all, despite who he is, I still want this man._

The song ended far too soon for Hermione's liking, and when the final strains of the accompanying piano had died away, they released each other. Their gazes locked, they said nothing in the ensuing silence.

He was so close, and the urge to kiss him was so strong, she'd already begun to slowly lift her hand to cup his face. But she didn't make it. As though he'd been under a spell, his face suddenly became impassive, and he took a step back and away from her.

"Goodnight, Granger," he said coldly, as his tone was like icy water thrown in her face. She was reawakened from her daze that, most likely, had been induced by his infernal heady cologne. She was suddenly reminded who Draco Malfoy was, and what he thought of her, regardless that, even now, her body still thrummed with excitement and want from his touch.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," she replied in chilled tones, and simultaneously, they turned and went their separate ways.

* * *

AN: FINALLY! This chapter was hard to write for some reason. I'm still not sure if I like it. Also, I've realised one glaring fact: I cannot write an insulting Draco Malfoy. The gift to engage them in sarcastic, witty banter evades me! -:cries:- In any case, I'll still try…

Thanks to the wonderful dears who left me a review! And please, let me know what you think of this chapter.

Thanks to:

: EllenDraper : sarah : BlueMizuki : CheshireCat23 : beautifly92 : PrettyChelsea : Instantstargirl : VeniVidiVici92 : compa16 : LibbyMalfoy : Seida-310 : Ashlee : purpledarknessvampyr : likeitall : gaaralover1989 : Alliy :


	7. Sept Chapitre

**AN:** Ignore any and all grammatical, spelling, punctuation and typographical errors! They'll haunt you!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

**Sept Chapitre**

Summer came, and with it an uncharacteristic and unrelenting heat to Britain that not even cooling charms and the occasional rain could alleviate. Makeshift pools were constructed, ice-lollipops were sold, and even a few students ventured into the lake—against the advisement of Professor McGonagall who promised school chores with Filch if she caught any student disobeying her orders.

The first two weeks of July found Hermione cooped up in her living quarters, buried to her nose in schoolwork: lesson plans for the new term, revisions, research for new material to incorporate into her teaching. But, by the third week, the work had reduced considerably, and she was left with an abundance of free time.

And it scared her.

Because when her mind was free, it wandered invariably to thoughts of Draco bloody Malfoy and the night of the graduation party.

Merlin, she just wanted to forget, but her brain kept insisting on reminding her of that night. Without meaning to, she could clearly remember the moment Draco looked at her differently. His face devoid of the usual disgusted sneer he reserved especially for her; his appreciative gaze that said he liked what he saw.

And their dance…she couldn't replay that moment in her head enough. The feel of his glorious hands as they smoothed along her back to encompass her in a semi-hug. The firmness, the _strength_ of his shoulders beneath her forearms when she'd wrapped her arms around his neck. The almost hypnotic scent of his cologne as she inhaled. The closeness of his body to hers…

She stopped herself halfway through her happy sigh.

Anyway, all of that didn't matter. Draco Malfoy had only been playing games with her. It was the only plausible explanation for his peculiar actions, because after that night, he'd returned to his horrid behaviour towards her: ignoring her, making snide remarks about her, speaking snappishly whenever she asked him a question. As a matter of fact, it seemed as though his awful attitude had worsened since.

Two steps forwards, ten steps back, it seemed. Maybe this was what a relationship with Draco would be like. And if that was so, what sense did it make fighting for him? She could foresee a road filled with bitter tears and heartbreak…just like what she was feeling now.

_I need to find a new love interest, that's all. A new crush almost always trumps the old. I wish I could meet a new bloke!_

And so, with such a desperate request made, providence decided to lend a helping hand.

* * *

"Here."

Lavender shoved a scroll of parchment into Hermione's hands and Hermione unwound it. Centered, and at the top, it read:

_**Unlucky in Love**_

_Because you don't need luck to find your soul mate. Just perseverance._

_Remember that liars go to hell and there's no true love there…except with Satan, and who wants to be with someone who has a tail? Therefore, please answer the following questions as honestly as possible. Thank you._

_**1. What is your ideal relationship?**_

_a. Committed _

_b. Casual_

_c. Open_

_d. Threesome_

Hermione had to reread to make sure she'd read everything correctly. She'd never seen absurdity quite like this.

"Lavender, what is this?" she demanded, shaking the parchment for emphasis.

"It's a relationship compatibility questionnaire," Lavender replied with an encouraging grin. "Go on. Fill it out!"

"No," she said flatly, slapping the parchment face-down on Lavender's kitchen table.

They were currently in Lavender's kitchen, a room charmed into variations of vibrant greens, yellows and pinks, from walls to counter tops to floor tiles. It easily put Hermione's staid, uncreative ivory-and-mahogany kitchen to shame. And, although Hermione openly voiced distaste for Lavender's mismatched colour schemes, she was secretly envious at how lively her friend's rooms always looked.

"Why not?" Lavender demanded. "Hermione, I thought you wanted to meet someone new!"

"I do! But just not like this, Lavender. It's so…so…desperate!"

Lavender lifted an eyebrow in a supercilious manner. No doubt taught that by her potions master boyfriend. "Unlike what you've been doing to get Draco's attention?"

Hermione scowled. "I was not desperate!"

"So says the woman who laced a cake with Amortentia…"

"Alright, so what if I was? That still does not justify my filling out this ridiculous questionnaire. Look at question two for Merlin's sake!"

_**2. Your ideal partner is a:**_

_a. Realist_

_b. Romanticist _

_c. Cunning linguist_

_d. Extremist _

Lavender gave Hermione a sly smile. "Option C looks promising."

Hermione couldn't hold her frown. She laughed as she said: "That's such a silly question. What if I was a bloke?"

"Then, you'd be just right for Draco and wouldn't need this questionnaire."

"Oh, shut up, Lav."

"Oooh, read question three,"

_**3. You've got a date! Where would you most like to go?**_

_a. An expensive restaurant_

_b. A cheap motel_

_c. To a movie_

_d. Skinny dipping_

"Skinny dipping? Honestly! The person who created this questionnaire has raised the bar on ludicrousness! I suspect it's that author of the book you lent me the other day…"

"Oh, come on, Hermione. We all know how overrated expensive restaurants are. Cheap motels just let you cut to chase. Why bother eat when you can fu—"

"Lavender!"

And like schoolgirls, they erupted into wild fits of giggles.

An hour, a bottle of strawberry wine and semi-drunken laughter later, Hermione had successfully completed her questionnaire and the accompanying application form. And, despite the owl's sharp jabs at her hands as she ruffled its feathers in her tipsiness, she'd managed to attach the bound parchment to its leg, and despatched it to the required destination.

Two days later, Hermione received a fairly thick envelope from 'Unlucky in Love.' Curious to its contents and having nothing better to do, she hastily ripped it open. Inside, she counted eleven pieces of parchment, ten of which that resembled her own application form. The only one that didn't was the first piece of parchment, and it was a letter addressed to her. It read:

_Dear Miss Hermione Granger,_

_On the 19th of July, 2004, we received your completed application and questionnaire, and have taken this as an indication that you wish to utilise our services. Therefore, we are pleased that you have chosen 'Unlucky in Love' as your romance consultant and provider! At Unlucky in Love, we aspire to fulfill our clients' needs to the best of our ability, going to great lengths to provide as much compatible prospects to our clients as we can._

_In the attached sheets, you will find the list of the most viable candidates we have compiled for you in an attempt to cater to your every requirement in a suitable partner. After extensive studying of your answers on your questionnaire by our certified Mind-Mapper, (we believe Muggles call them 'psychologists') we are confident that you will find our choices more than satisfactory! Additionally, as you are a first-time client, we have waived the 10 galleons for the initial recommendation fee._

_Once again, we express our thanks that you have decided to join Unlucky in Love, and hope that we can maintain an amiable relationship regardless of whatever experiences you may or may not encounter along your quest for true love!_

_Sincerely,_

_Amalea Dewhurst_

_Director of Recommendations_

"I knew it was her!" exclaimed Hermione as she glared at the familiar name.

Refolding the parchment and stuffing it back into the envelope, Hermione snatched up her wand, intent on marching the short hallway walk to Lavender's room in righteous indignation. She'd already read Miss Dewhurst's book and found it unworthy of her time, so why waste the effort on these supposed 'matches?' It was obviously all a hoax. A money-making scheme that was proving to be successful if Amalea Dewhurst already had love gurus like Lavender in her clutches.

Clad in a white tank top and yellow short shorts, Hermione left her room in determined steps. At the end of the hallway, she made a hard right and bumped into something. She went down, landing partially on her left buttock as she'd reached out her hands to stop her fall. She was thinking how eerily familiar this situation was when _his_ voice confirmed it:

"You blind twit, watch where you're going."

Her anger was immediate. "That goes the same for you, you arse! Look at where I am!"

And Draco looked: a slow downward perusal that suddenly made her conscious of how much skin she was exposing. The impulse to cover herself overcame her, and she regretted telling him to 'look.' No doubt he was tallying up insufficiencies to insult her with in the next breath.

Then his eyes abruptly left her to stare at something to her right. Moving past her, he bent and picked up something. At the sound of shuffling parchment, Hermione realised, belatedly, that Draco had just found her Unlucky in Love matches. And if there was one person she didn't want finding out about that, it was Draco Malfoy.

She sprang to her feet, making a swipe at the stack of parchment but Draco lifted it up above her head. Gone was the scowl from his face. In his eyes was a glint of mischievous intent, and on his lips a smirk began to form.

"What's this, Granger?" he taunted. "Please don't tell me it is what I think it is."

"Give it back, Malfoy!" she demanded, struggling to grab the papers he kept swinging out of her reach.

He began to read, even as he danced away from her. "Gary Tugglebee, 38, works at a comic bookstore—"

"Malfoy, give it to me, you nasty git!"

"—hobbies: taxidermy, fly-fishing, making his own comics. Seriously, Granger, this one's a keeper."

Her inherent Muggle ways preventing her from remembering that she was a witch, Hermione continued to stand on tiptoe, her fingers struggling to get a hold of the parchment even though it was a futile attempt due to Draco's advantage in height.

"William Doughboy, 33, a baker, thinks family is very important, thus lives with his mum—"

Planting her hand on his chest for leverage, she attempted to make a light jump for the parchment. However, her little stunt only sent Draco's body backwards against a wall, and her body unsteadily forwards against his. She began to teeter to the left, but much to her surprise, his arms came around her sides and kept her from falling.

And so they stood: chest pressed against chest, her hands on his shoulders, his hands loosely around her hips, their faces mere inches apart.

A dream-come-true for Hermione.

Hermione's heartbeat sped up. She was so close, oh so close. Enveloped in his arms; squashed up deliciously against him. She would stand there forever if this was the only intimate contact she ever would receive from him. How she dearly wanted to just raise herself up the remaining inches, incline her head to the right and kiss him. A long, passionate kiss that would eradicate all his hate for her and his preference for men. A kiss that would have him besotted with her as she was with him.

And if Hermione was mistaken, she swore the idea was crossing his mind too. He was staring at her lips intently, like a man who wanted something standing before him, but who wasn't sure if he should take it. And she thought that maybe she could push him along the path that was most satisfactory to the both of them, so she began lifting raising herself closer, and he began to tilt his head downwards, his lips getting nearer and nearer…to her ear.

His breath warm and sending little tingles down her spine, he said: "When you're done rubbing yourself up against me like a little tart, do step away as soon as possible. I have to take a bath to get your filth off of me."

She pulled away from him like if she'd been standing in fire.

He straightened himself, threw the parchment to the floor, and gave her a scornful look before turning on his heel and walking away.

* * *

She didn't bother going to Lavender's room. Instead, she returned to her own, her heart, once again, broken into bits and pieces by Draco's latest rejection. She'd lost all of her righteous indignation and had decided to seriously consider the men that Amalea had listed as 'suitable choices.' The ship on which stood the idea that Draco might like her had already sailed. It was obvious that no matter what she did or didn't do, the bastard would always have a special loathing for her.

Of the twenty choices she'd been given, only two were 'likely' and one a 'worth meeting.' The one worth meeting was named Robert Loughie. He was twenty-nine, a solicitor for a respectable company, and he loved to boat, and to help out at his local animal hospital in his free time. Most of the men on the list had an accompanying photograph, but this Robert Loughie did not. She suspected he was slightly on the ugly side, but told herself that that wouldn't matter. It was the inside that counted.

As per the instructions, she re-sent an owl to Unlucky in Love stating her interest in Mr. Robert Loughie, and, the next day, a letter was returned claiming that Mr. Loughie would like to exchange contact details to discuss a possible meeting. So, using the address that Mr. Loughie had provided, she sent him a short missive enquiring when and where he'd like this meeting to be. After a few back and forth owls, they finally agreed on dinner at a nice restaurant in Hydensaw—a town just next to Hogsmeade.

So, Sunday evening, after Lavender had charmed Hermione's hair into straightened subjection, and her face into light layers of makeup, Hermione made her way down to the castle's gate to Apparate to the restaurant. She wore a baby-blue, knee length dress with a curved neckline that showcased an adequate amount of cleavage, (but not too much to have her appear like a trollop, as Lavender had preached) and a pair of the sexiest black pumps she owned.

She met a few students along the way: the girls' expressions were varied between gobsmacked and envious; the boys between appreciative and uncaring. Then she saw Draco heading her way, and lifting her head a little, she completely ignored him as she passed him by, the memory of his rejection still fresh on her mind.

It was a shame though, because if she'd turned that moment, she might have caught him as he stood at the spot where she'd passed him, watching her as she walked away.

* * *

Their appointed meeting time had been eight but she'd arrived fifteen minutes early. Robert had chosen a simple, yet classy restaurant, and she quite enjoyed the cream and gold décor, and the professionalism of the staff.

Glass of water in her hand, she sat at their table and waited for him, nervous despite her constant chants not to be. Idly looking at the menu, she wondered what they'd talk about, if their conversation would be stilted and awkward, if he'd be too awful to look at…

"Hermione?"

At the sound of her name, she looked up. A tall, dark-haired man was standing before her, advertising straight, white teeth in a smile. He had beautiful eyes: a blue-green mixture that resembled the seawaters of some exotic island.

_Merlin, that bloke is so gorgeous he should be jailed. It's just too illegal to have him waltzing around like that…_

"Are you Hermione Granger?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, giving him a suspicious look. "And you are…?"

He extended a hand as he seated himself at her table.

"Hi, I'm Robert. Robert Loughie."

* * *

AN: Hello, lovelies! Have you missed me? No? ANYway, many apologies that I've taken so long to update this story. I'm currently writing a fic for the LBB Challenge at LJ so it's taking some time, (as well as Real Life getting in the way) and, I'd begun to lose love for this story, and had been tempted to either: a. rewrite it or b. dump it off on someone else to write. But then a few of you sent me messages demanding an update, and I couldn't leave you (or Conversion) like that. Thus, my love has returned! Hope you liked this chapter. :)

Thanks to the sweethearts that reviewed the previous chapter:

CheshireCat23 :: Stella Cosmopolita :: sushiking :: rec2527 :: :: beautifly92 :: Nabasha :: BlueMizuki :: PrettyChelsea :: compa16 :: katiebear95 :: gaaralover1989 :: Seida-310 :: Hexajira Black :: SassMacfru :: NessaWayMalfoy :: dramioneshipperforever :: Oktobur ::


	8. Huit Chapitre

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

**Huit Chapitre**

Robert Loughie was wonderful.

Handsome enough to be Hugh Jackman's look-a-like, and with a similar body—all muscles and broad shoulders, if one judged from the stretch of his dinner jacket—to boot. He was a kind-hearted soul: caring for and fostering abandoned pets. His sense of humour was fantastic: she hadn't laughed that much in a long, long time. His manners were impeccable: he listened attentively to what she had to say; he didn't speak with his mouth full of food. And the clincher: he was an unashamed bookworm.

Hermione swore she fell in love with him at the end of their first date.

When compared to Draco's sniping, scowling, ignoring and insulting behaviour, Robert's charm and adoration was like a breath of sweet, fresh air. Compounded by the fact that there was no bad blood between them, only smiles and complimentary words, he was a clear win over a nasty git like Draco Malfoy any day. Robert made her feel appreciated and beautiful, sentiments she'd long disassociated with herself under Draco's harsh and vilifying tongue.

Smilingly agreeing to a second date at the end of their first, Hermione glided home on a cloud of blissful satisfaction. Robert Loughie was perfect. He was the type of man one read about in those romance novels, and to think she'd found him! Well, Unlucky in Love, had, actually. If she could identify who Amalea Dewhurst was, Hermione swore she'd kiss the woman in gratitude.

The next day, she imparted every single detail of her date with Robert to Lavender, even going so far as to sharing her memories through a Pensieve. She went through the day feeling delightfully smug, content in the knowledge that someone found her desirable, and that that someone wasn't too bad himself. Her good mood so persisted even into the following two days that when Headmistress McGonagall called for an impromptu staff meeting in her office, Hermione went without suspicion invading her mind…

…until she saw Draco Malfoy waiting in the headmistress' office as well.

* * *

"Merlin, Granger, when will I ever be rid of your presence?"

Hermione scowled at him, her cheerfulness deflating like a punctured balloon.

"Malfoy, don't flatter yourself thinking I like being around you either."

"I beg to differ."

Those four words carried so much weight, as did his steady gaze. It was so easy to recall the last time they'd met, and what had transpired between them. Her cheeks grew slightly hot but she was determined not to avert her gaze. She would not be cowed by Draco Malfoy. Not this time; not anymore.

"Oh? Well, you can 'beg to differ' all you like, Malfoy, because it does not matter one whit to me. Just know that as of today, I'll endeavour to avoid having to keep your odious company!"

Professor McGonagall chose that moment to enter her office.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger," she announced, rounding her desk to stand next to her chair. "I'll make this quick as I have other matters that need attending to: I have organised a Hogsmeade trip for the students on Saturday, and I'd like the both of you to be chaperones."

"But, Professor—" Hermione began, not liking the direction of this discussion, but Professor McGonagall cut her off with a lifted palm.

"Miss Granger, I will not tolerate any arguments on the matter. If you had any plans for that day, cancel them. As a professor of this institution, your first priority must always be to the children. Shirking your duties is highly irresponsible, and will only necessitate the termination of your professorship. On Saturday at 10:00pm, you will be waiting outside the gates for the carriages that will take you and Mr. Malfoy to Hogsmeade. And," Professor McGonagall fixed her with a steely gaze, "you will not leave Mr. Malfoy's side, neither he yours. Do I make myself clear?"

Both Hermione and Draco answered in deadpanned unison:

"Yes, Professor McGonagall."

* * *

Saturday morning arrived, and Hermione was in a foul mood. Indeed, she _had_ had plans. Due to Robert's packed schedule, they'd decided on a quick brunch for their second date, but, alas, it wasn't to be. Today, she'd not be smiling dreamily across the table at the most handsomest man in the world over an expensive egg salad, instead, she'd be partnered up with an antisocial git, forced to keep wayward teenagers in line.

How she hated Minerva McGonagall right then.

How could her old professor do this to her? Was she so dense or so forgetful concerning the animosity that reigned supreme between her and Draco? Or was this yet another matchmaking scheme of hers? As a matter of fact, it did seem like it! After all, why would Professor McGonagall suddenly organise a Hogsmeade trip when she was usually so cautious about letting the students out of her sight?

And why have her and Draco as chaperones? Weren't there any other professors that could have done the job? Classes weren't being held. Actually, it was summer holidays, and Hogsmeade trips usually occurred during terms! And since it was summer, there would be no questions of whether this professor or that professor had enough free time, because all of them did! Even Professor McGonagall herself.

Well, it didn't matter anymore. It was already 9:30am, and any chance she'd have of foisting this task onto the shoulders of another professor was lost. Also, after that humiliating dressing down in front of Malfoy about 'shirking duties,' she felt inclined to fulfil whatever responsibility that had been tasked her. She'd not have Professor McGonagall regard her as a 'slacker.'

_And, you will not leave Mr. Malfoy's side…_

Oh Merlin, no. She wouldn't—couldn't!—survive that ordeal. After struggling to pull herself back to rights, back to the reality that Draco Malfoy would never be more than the evil bastard that continuously insulted her, how was she to keep his company for the requisite five hours in Hogsmeade? _Especially_ after her righteous proclamation about doing the complete opposite?

She _really_ hated Minerva McGonagall right then.

She would look a fool. Malfoy would be smirking his stupid smirk as he spun her failure into some sort of barb. Then, during their trip, he'd find various ways to belittle her, or somehow get her into trouble. Thus, instead of enjoying the blissful date she'd imagined with Robert Loughie, she'd be suffering in her usual miserable way with Draco bloody Malfoy.

_No, think positive, Hermione. Worrying about Draco Malfoy is a waste of time. You can still enjoy your trip!_

Yes, she could, couldn't she? All she had to do was ignore Draco! Just because Professor McGonagall had ordered them to stay side by side didn't mean she had to speak to him or listen to him. She'd go where she wanted whilst ensuring that the students were safe. And if he didn't follow her lead, then that was just too bad. A prompt report about _his_ duty-shirking would be written up immediately upon her return to Hogwarts and left neatly folded on Professor McGonagall's desk.

* * *

Unfortunately, ignoring Draco was harder than she had imagined.

Especially when she considered Herman Ranger's fawning presence right by his side.

Currently, she and a few of the students were in The Three Broomsticks Inn, enjoying their mugs of butterbeer. She'd been having a discussion with a sixth year Gryffindor student about the Goblin Rebellions when loud giggling caught her ear. Curious, she'd turned her head in the direction of the sound, and was displeased to find Herman and Draco sharing a dark and suspiciously cosy corner table by themselves, looking far too chummy for teacher and student.

And Draco was smiling. Smiling!

"Ugh, I don't like him," said the Gryffindor girl, and when Hermione turned a raised eyebrow at her, she covered her mouth apologetically.

"No, that's alright, Lydia," Hermione replied. "Though I don't condone bad-mouthing your professors—"

"No, I wasn't talking about Professor Malfoy, professor," Lydia interjected. "I'm talking about Herman. I…he's odd, that one. Sneaky."

Interest piqued, Hermione sat up straighter. "How so?"

Lydia darted uncomfortable glances between Hermione and Herman. "Well, he has this aura around him, you know? There's this dishonest, dirty feeling surrounding him whenever I see him. And his eyes…" Lydia shivered, "they're…they're brown, like yours, professor, but not warm and…and nice like yours. Not at all. They're…cold. Hard."

Thinking to herself that Divination had obviously warped the poor girl's brain, Hermione merely said: "Oh, I see."

But Lydia continued: "Plus, he's manipulative. He visits the girls' dormitories all the time, and once, when I told the other girls I didn't like it, he made them believe I'd said nasty things about them behind their back, and now none of them speaks to me. Also, do you remember that time Trevor Turpin had to be rushed to St. Mungo's because of the fire?" At Hermione's nod, Lydia went on: "Well, the day before, Herman was giving Harriet Mayberry make-up advice when Trevor walked by and called him a…a 'dirty poof.' And the look on Herman's face…Merlin…he looked so _evil_. I think I'm the only one who saw it." Lydia's voice dropped to a whisper: "He's the one that burned Trevor. I'm sure of it."

Right then, Herman erupted into another fit of giggles as if to confirm Lydia's suspicions.

Not quite believing the girl, yet feeling disconcerted by the information, Hermione replied: "Well, Lydia, Headmistress McGonagall had performed a thorough investigation on the matter and she'd—"

"Professor, believe me," Lydia interrupted yet again, darting another fearful gaze at Herman, "Herman's really clever. And sneaky. And _evil_. He's not above hurting others to get what he wants. He's…just…just stay clear of him."

And she sprang from her seat and left The Three Broomsticks as though demons were on her heels.

Hermione took a deep, cleansing breath, trying to banish the uneasiness she felt at Lydia's story. She couldn't possibly believe the girl. Lydia was an adolescent, prone to fanciful thoughts and flighty behaviour, and compounded with the Divination brainwashing Lavender supplied her three times a week, it was obvious that the girl had slightly lost touch with reality.

Still, Lydia's tale did hold some believability.

For instance, Lydia's sudden loneliness at the start of her sixth year had not been lost on Hermione. Accustomed to seeing the girl with her Gryffindor peers, Katherine Alden and Isabelle Chalfont giggling away at the back of her class, Hermione had thought it odd to see the girl coming and going to classes alone. And in retrospect, she'd even noticed a slight hostility from many of the Gryffindor sixth year girls towards Lydia.

Also, that matter with Trevor Turpin being burned in his bed whilst sleeping had never been solved. Despite the Aurors' attempts, they'd only learnt that the fire had been caused by a well aimed Fire-Making charm, but the conjurer's identity still remained unknown. Thankfully, Trevor had only suffered first-degree burns and, within a week and a half, had been well enough to return to school.

But had one, seemingly harmless student been the cause of these two incidents (and possibly more, if she judged by Lydia's warning?)

No, she couldn't bring herself to believe it, and doing so would only encourage Lydia's obvious tendency to gossip. She had to speak to the girl, caution her on the harmfulness of gossiping. However, that would have to be dealt with later because for now, she had to disrupt that teacher-student love-fest going on in the corner. She wouldn't have such blatant and improper consorting flaunted in her face.

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Ranger, Mr. Malfoy," she greeted.

"Hello, Professor Granger," Herman returned coolly, and Draco, as usual, said nothing.

"Mind if I sit?" she asked.

"This is a table for two," Herman said rudely.

Unperturbed by his awful tone, Hermione pulled a chair from a nearby table and seated herself across from them. "Now it's a table for three."

She smiled.

Silence.

Then, "So, I heard you two having quite the laugh over here. Mind letting me in on the joke?"

"How about minding your own business first, Granger?" Draco replied.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, that's not a very polite thing to say," she said, still smiling. "Consider _young_ Mr. Ranger here. He's an _adolescent_. Very impressionable. Very _young_."

He leant back in his chair and gave her a long, hard look. "What's that supposed to mean, Granger?"

She blushed, regretful of what she'd said since Draco seemed to have picked up on her insinuation. And judging by the way he was scowling heavily at her, had she been wrong with her assumptions? Was there truly nothing going on between him and Herman? But why were they always engaging in such private conversations? Besides, could anyone fault her suspicions? Draco was gay (regrettably) and so was Herman…

"I…I just meant that as Herman's professor, being impolite can affect him adversely—"

"Is that so?" Draco interrupted. "Then, do tell me, what's the word for a person that rudely interjects themselves into an ongoing conversation, and appoints themselves a seat without first being offered?"

She blushed harder. "Err…"

"Impolite, Granger. The word is 'impolite,'" Draco supplied. "And that is what _you_ are. So don't come here with your high-and-mightiness about me 'affecting him adversely' when you're already doing it yourself, you annoying, nosy bint."

Humiliated, she looked away from Draco. Glancing at Herman, she was startled at the baleful look the boy was giving her. Immediately, Lydia's words were called to mind: _His eyes…they're cold. Hard. _And Hermione had to agree. In those previously warm brown irises was a chilling flintiness that rooted her to the spot. Only once she'd ever seen such a look before, and it was in the eyes of Voldemort when he gazed at Harry. And to see such a look, one of all-consuming hatred, in Herman's youthful face—especially directed at her—was extraordinarily disturbing.

She stood quickly, deciding that whether or not Draco was involved with this boy was none of her business. Besides, between Herman's nasty gaze and Draco's nastier scowl, it was apparent she wasn't welcomed there, anyway.

"Well, I'm sorry if I've inconvenienced the both of you," she said in lofty tones, "but I'll be taking my leave now. I think I might be much more welcomed in the bookstore."

Holding her head high, she turned and walked away.

* * *

The ride back to Hogwarts was uncomfortable on two accounts.

Firstly, the stiff, unending silence that permeated the carriage she shared with Draco. Ever since The Three Broomstick incident, and his awful remark that she weighed more than a pregnant hippogriff due to her upsetting the carriage when she sat down too heavily, she'd turned away from him, resolutely staring out at the passing scenery. She chastised herself for being so thin-skinned of late, but every new slur from Draco was like a whip that had flayed her skin raw.

Secondly, because of the carriage's small interior—fit only for young students, after all—they were forced to sit fairly close to one another. Half of Hermione—the bit that was still smarting from Draco's earlier comment concerning her weight—hated this, whilst the other half of her—the bit that still fancied Draco—was quite pleased with this set-up. Still, determined to eliminate any fanciful ideas, she tried squeezing herself up against her side of the carriage, making sure no part of her touched him.

However, it seemed that the thestral-lead carriage and the road that led to Hogwarts had a different agenda, because every single bump and dip in the road jostled her closer and closer to Draco's side. Then, suddenly, as she still clung to the edge of the carriage's siding, the wheel on Draco's side tipped sharply, and her fingers were forcibly released from their steely grip, sending her body rolling over his lap, towards the open section of his side.

Crying out, she reached out instinctively to clutch his shoulders. Once again, much to her surprise, Draco grabbed her, preventing her detrimental fall from the carriage. There she lay awkwardly, his right thigh pressing intimately between her legs, his right hand on her bottom, his left hand supporting her back, his face very close to hers due to the fact that she was dragging him downwards by her grip on his shoulders.

The carriage righted itself and continued to roll onwards.

Her heart thudded hard against her chest in a mixture of fear and excitement. _What a déjà vu moment, _she thought. Hadn't their last encounter been quite similar? What was it with Fate and its obstinacy to have her pressed up close against Draco? She didn't need this. She couldn't stand the hope and the longing that was currently surging through her blood; the yearning for Draco to just dip his head and kiss her.

_Make the first move…_

By doing what?

_Kiss him first…_

Impossible. She wasn't that brave. The likelihood of Draco shoving her away in disgust was at one hundred percent, especially since she'd made quite the fool of herself in The Three Broomsticks.

_Kiss him…_

Merlin…could she? He hated her, didn't he? What if he—

_Kiss him!_

_This is a bad idea,_ was her last thought before she moved her left hand up to the back of his neck, brought his face down to hers and kissed him.

* * *

**AN:** Cliffhanger! Who hates me right now? -:counts the many hands that are lifted in the air:- Ah well. You'll love me again soon, you will! Hope you enjoyed the update. Tell me what you think! :)

Thanks to the awesome peeps who reviewed the previous chapter. Your words of encouragement to continue this story really made me smile. I never knew so many of you liked this story. But thanks for showing me that you do!


	9. Neuf Chapitre

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling. I swear, I really don't. Honest. Believe me. Seriously, I really—hey! HEY! Let me go! I said I don't own the stupid— _-:is seen kicking and screaming as police drags her away by the armpits:-_

**Neuf Chapitre**

Once, when she was seven years old, her Uncle Preston had come to visit, and he'd brought her a toy. It had been a box with different colours on each side, adorned with various heart-shaped and star-shaped stickers, and on its right side was silver crank with an orange, plastic covering at the end. She had stared at the box in uncertainty, then at her Uncle Preston, not quite understanding what she was to do.

Smiling excitedly, Uncle Preston had pointed at the crank, clenched his fat fingers into a fist and had made a rotating motion with his hand.

"Have a go at it, dear," he'd encouraged, and understanding what she had to do, she'd grabbed the crank and spun it slowly. Merry little sounds had issued from the box in a tune similar to the one the ice-cream truck made whenever it passed by, and enjoying the jovial, playful tune, she had kept on cranking until her Uncle Preston had told her to stop and look and wait.

And she'd stopped and looked and waited; fascinated as to what was going to happen next.

She'd heard a sharp tick before a miniature jester had suddenly sprung from the top of the box, reaching for her, startling her backwards with a tiny yelp. Her small heart had been racing, but when her Uncle Preston had burst out into loud guffaws, she'd turned and laughed along with him.

And as Hermione pressed her lips against Draco's, she felt quite like her seven-year-old self before the 'surprise': fascinated (and terrified) as to what he was going to do next.

Merlin, what am I doing? I'm insane! This is insane! I need to end this! I need to end this now before he—

He kissed her back.

Hermione's racing heart made records as Draco pressed his mouth firmly against her own. Much to her amazement and incredible delight, she felt his tongue slide along her lower lip, hot and furtive and requesting access, and she obliged, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. At the touch of his tongue against her own, she made a tiny sound in the back of her throat, her fingers curling slightly in his hair.

She couldn't believe this. Draco Malfoy was…Draco Malfoy was kissing her! And it wasn't one of her fantasies or late-night dreams. It was the real deal! She could feel his mouth working over hers and his fingers steadily pressing into her bum; she could taste the lingering sweetness of the butterbeer he'd had; she could smell the sharp, aromatic scent of his cologne on his clothing; she could feel the firmness of his chest as it pressed into her own.

This was real. _This was real._

A marvellous dream come—

Their carriage jerked to a stop.

He immediately broke the kiss, pulling away from her swiftly. Not realising she'd closed them, Hermione opened her eyes and found Draco gazing down at her in horrified disbelief—not the kind of look a girl wanted to see on the face of a man she'd just kissed; especially one that she fancied.

At the sound of footsteps, he suddenly released his grip on her body at the same time she scrambled over to her section of the carriage. Then, realising that the reason the carriage had stopped was because they'd finally arrived back at Hogwarts, Hermione sprang from the carriage—much like the way the jester had sprung from its box—and made her way hastily into the castle.

* * *

She didn't dare go down for supper that evening.

_I can't face him. I just can't._

Cowardice claimed her for its own. She'd already used up all of her bravery points when she'd pulled Draco Malfoy into a kiss—a kiss he'd reciprocated with surprising readiness. But did it matter that he'd kissed back? What about that 'look' he'd given her afterwards? He hadn't looked pleased with what he'd done. As a matter of fact, he'd looked at her as though she'd told him Voldemort was his real father.

Still, what had been going through his mind when he'd kissed her so ardently? More importantly, what was he thinking _now_? Was he regretful of what he'd done? Was he angry of what _she_ had done? Well, there was surely no doubt there. He was probably fuming, lay-waiting her somewhere to volley harsh insults her way. It's a good thing, then, that she decided to coop-up inside her room.

Sensibly, she knew she couldn't avoid him forever. They lived and worked in the same building, and even though the summer holidays were still a month long before ending, the new term began in September, and she'd be forced to leave her rooms for her teaching duties. Even if she opted to take her meals in her rooms, there was still the inadvertent meet-up in a corridor or classroom to or from a class.

Not to mention that Professor McGonagall was hell-bent on matchmaking them.

Curled up in her living-room chair, Hermione cupped her face with her palms. She wished she'd never kissed Draco, regardless if it had felt fantastic to do so. She'd rather have lived with the desperate longing than the overwhelming worry that filled her heart. And to add insult to injury, she'd obviously regressed to the lovelorn idiot she used to be.

_I really need a new man to—wait! Robert!_

How could she have forgotten all about handsome and sweet Robert Loughie? If ever there was a man to take her mind off of depressing subjects, it was Robert! When she'd called to cancel their date on Saturday, he'd been so nice about it all, admitting he'd be busy himself, but tomorrow was Sunday and she doubted he'd be so taken with work he couldn't go out for drinks.

Energy revived, she sprang from her seat and grabbed for spare parchment, ink and quill. A little annoyed that the Wizarding world had yet to move on to the wonders of mobile phones—or anything remotely modern—Hermione quickly wrote a short missive to Robert. Just as she'd finished folding the parchment neatly, Robert's owl flew into her window with a letter attached to its foot.

She read the letter that briefly requested whether or not she'd be available for an outing on Sunday, and smiling at the coincidence, she despatched the owl back to its owner with a note of assent.

* * *

Their second date was a picnic at a quiet park.

Robert had packed a wicker basket of triangular-shaped sandwiches, a bundle of grapes, a bowl of strawberries, six apple-cinnamon tarts, a bottle of ginger ale, and a bottle of white wine. He'd even walked with the requisite red-and-white tartan spread to sit on. Basking in the warmth of the sun, they talked and laughed and enjoyed themselves.

Hermione forgot all about Draco Malfoy in the face of Robert's charm. How could she concentrate on that insulting bastard when Robert was hand-feeding her grapes and gazing at her so adoringly? This was the most romantic date she'd ever been on despite its simplicity, and she was not going to sully it with the occasional thought of that odious ferret.

"So, Hermione, is it true that the infamous Draco Malfoy is teaching at Hogwarts?" Robert enquired.

So much for not thinking about Malfoy.

"Err…yes, he is," she answered, tempted to ask why he wanted to know but reluctant to further any conversation on the subject of Malfoy.

"Handsome little bugger, isn't he?" said Robert.

She scrunched up her face. "I…I suppose so…"

"Must get a lot of female attention, don't you say?"

Finding it strange of Robert to be commenting on the attractiveness of another man, but deciding not to care, Hermione merely gave a noncommittal shrug. "Possibly…"

"And what about you? Have you ever fancied him?"

She sucked in a sharp breath; her entire body went rigid.

"No. Never." Her tone was too harsh to be casual. "Besides, why are you so interested in Malfoy? He's a conceited and highly unpleasant human being. Some days, he achieves such total evilness, it makes me question whether he is human or truly the progeny of Satan."

Robert was watching her now. "If that's the case, then maybe you should stay away from him, Hermione. Stay away from him."

The steely undertones in his voice surprised Hermione. Although he was obviously giving her advice, his direct gaze almost implied that his words were not only advice but also a threat. Stay away from him…_or else_. But that didn't make any sense. Why would Robert threaten her concerning Draco Malfoy? No, she'd definitely heard wrong. That hard texture in his voice was just to emphasise the importance of keeping her distance from Malfoy to ensure her safety.

He smiled, and his steady gaze didn't seem so discomforting anymore.

She smiled back. "You don't need to tell me that, Robert. I already do."

* * *

Lavender, however, had a completely different opinion on the matter.

"Oh please, Hermione, don't listen to him! Draco _kissed_ you!"

"Actually, Lavender, I kissed Draco—"

"And he kissed you back!" interjected Lavender. "Hermione, you can't pass this opportunity up. It's obvious Draco doesn't really hate you as he's led you to believe."

"D'you think so? I don't know…"

Lavender gripped both of Hermione's shoulder and gave her a meaningful look. "Hermione, you mustn't give up now! Remember, the gold trimming around a dark cloud—"

"Silver lining…"

"Whatever. Just know that when you think it's really bad, it's just about to get really good, and that's what you have with Draco. Hermione, he's the one you fancy! You've just been using Robert to take your mind off Draco because things haven't been going in your favour. But now it has!"

"I suppose so…"

"Hermione, listen to me: fight for your man! No ifs or buts, I say! Be the inspiration to the rest of the unfortunate women around the world who are faced with similar predicaments! Conquer the unconquerable! Complete Draco's _conversion_!"

Hermione sprang to her feet, Lavender's moving words firing her blood. Lavender was right! Why bother with what Robert had to say? Why bother with Robert Loughie full stop? Draco Malfoy was the man she wanted, thus he was the man she was going to get! She'd already made the first step in garnering his affections, and the fact that he'd returned a morsel was good enough for her. It was leverage for more.

"So what say you, Hermione? What are you going to do?" demanded Lavender as she grabbed Hermione's wrists and squeezed them. "Are you going to stand by and let him go?"

"No!" proclaimed Hermione in sturdy tones.

"Are you going to walk away?"

"No!"

"Are you going to fight for your man?"

"Yes!"

"Bloody right you will!" cried Lavender, springing to her feet as well. "Now let's get started!"

* * *

After an hour of scheming, Hermione and Lavender had concocted yet another plan to get Draco's attention.

It had been simple: Lavender would approach Draco and convince him that a boggart was hiding in an old, disused cupboard in the Divination classroom, and beg him to evict the creature. And because she knew Draco needed a boggart for his upcoming third years at the start of the new term, she knew he would agree. Then, as she walked with Draco up to the Divination classroom to show him where to find the boggart, she'd suddenly 'remember something important' and tell him to go on without her, and that she'll meet up with him soon.

Draco would then make his lonely way up to the top of the north tower where the Divination classroom was located. Upon entering the classroom, Hermione—the true boggart hiding in the cupboard—would magically darken the room before springing out of the cupboard to snog-attack Draco. Needless to say, the 'something important' Lavender had suddenly remembered would keep her away to ensure the success of Hermione and Draco's romance.

Various questions had been asked, mainly by Hermione, and the answers had been given in off-handed tones, mainly by Lavender.

_What if he doesn't believe you, Lavender?_

_Oh, he will!_

_What if he says he'll wait for you so that the both of you can go up together?_

_Oh, he won't!_

_What if he manages to escape before I can even reach him? It'll be dark…_

_You'll be fine!_

_What if he pushes me away? What if he hexes me?_

_Err…you'll be fine!_

Hermione had had serious doubts about this plan. It seemed riddled with failure, and it made her look incredibly desperate—much more than when she'd laced Draco's cake with Amortentia. In her head, she could already envision the many scenarios where this awful plan went horribly wrong: Draco not showing up; Draco showing up but immediately countering her darkening spell thus exposing her mid-jump to snog-attack him; Draco hexing her backwards into an unconscious heap amidst the broken bits that was once the cupboard; Draco realising her intentions and laughing derisively, storing up the episode to use against her for the rest of her life…

Merlin, she couldn't do it. She just couldn't. And when she told Lavender just as much, she'd been met with stark rejection at her withdrawal from 'the plan.'

"Yes you can, Hermione. You will! Where's your Gryffindor bravery? Where's your inner lioness? Fight for your man!"

And thus, after another lengthy motivational speech from Lavender about 'becoming the first woman to turn a gay man back onto the straight and narrow path,' Hermione's can-do attitude was revived. So, on Tuesday evening, high up in the north tower, closeted in a dusty, musty-smelling, mildew-growing cupboard in the Divination's classroom, Hermione stood, nervously chewing on her bottom lip, lay-waiting Draco Malfoy to snog him back into heterosexuality.

Yes, it had been a simple plan. In theory, it was fool-proof. Perfect.

It was just a shame that Fate was especially bored that day.

* * *

Severus Snape always thought himself especially fortunate to have a woman like Lavender Brown to call his own. Of course, she wasn't 'well read' or the brightest crayon in the box, but she was energetic, kind and loyal; not to mention beautiful and extraordinarily inventive in the bedroom. Despite their vast dissimilarities, they'd found a special rhythm of their own and it was working just fine.

That was why, when he overheard Lavender speaking to Draco in honeyed tones, he grew more than a little anxious. Why was she asking that Malfoy spawn for help with the boggart when she could've asked him? Did she fancy the boy just like that bushy-headed Granger nitwit? Was this some ploy to have a little dalliance up in the Divination classroom? Well, he was having none of that.

Severus decided right then that he'd put a pin that balloon. He'd go up to the Divination classroom, and, if indeed there was a boggart, he'd capture the thing, thereby becoming the hero in this unfolding saga. However, if there wasn't any boggart, he'd be there waiting to catch Lavender and Malfoy in the act, thereby ruining their plans to cuckold him. A win in every direction.

With this in mind, Severus Snape made his way up to the north tower.

* * *

Meanwhile, down at the professor's table where Lavender and Draco sat:

"I've already got a boggart, Brown," replied Draco coolly.

Lavender's mouth gaped in shock. She'd not foreseen this.

"But…err…is it…is it any good?" she asked lamely.

Draco only lifted an eyebrow at her before returning to the paper he'd been reading.

"It serves its purpose just fine."

"But…but…Malfoy, I _really_ need you to get rid of this boggart!"

"I can get rid of it for you," piped up Professor Flitwick. "My _Riddikulus_ charm-work is really—"

"No," Lavender cut in sharply, then noticing the taken-aback expression on Professor Flitwick's face, she gave a tinny laugh. "Err…I meant…Professor Flitwick, it's just that Malfoy…Mr. Malfoy is better suited to this kind of boggart…"

Draco gave Lavender a 'you-really-are-quite-stupid' look. "Brown, all boggarts are the same." He shut his paper and stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Wait!" cried Lavender desperately, leaping to her feet.

Draco stared at her expectantly.

"_Please_, Malfoy. I really need your help."

He frowned for a moment, obviously suspicious concerning her unusual behaviour. But curiosity got the better of him, and motioning towards the Great Hall exit, he said:

"Fine. Lead the way."

* * *

It seemed an age before Hermione heard the faraway sound of footsteps coming up towards the Divination classroom. A heavy bout of nervousness overcame her, and her palms became slightly moist. Her hands shook, her heartbeat began to accelerate, and her breathing became more rapid. _This was it_, she thought. The moment was finally here. There was no going back. It was do or die.

* * *

_Damn that woman_, thought Severus bitterly as he neared the closed door of the Divination classroom. He'd always hated this section of Hogwarts—it had far too many flight of stairs, there was always a funny, overripe smell in this section of the tower, and at nights, it grew so dark and so quiet, it made even him feel slightly unsettled. Additionally, the classes for the worst subject ever introduced into Hogwarts' curriculum was usually held in this area.

Still, he had a mission to fulfil, and damn it all to hell, he was going to fulfil it!

* * *

_That's Snape_, mused Draco as he made his way up the flight of stairs to the Divination classroom. Lavender had abandoned him around the first flight claiming she had 'remembered something important' and that he could go on ahead without her. He had a great suspicion that Lavender was up to something, but of course, he didn't know what. He didn't care if it was a prank, though. He was very confident that he would avoid it somehow or the other, so long as _Granger_ wasn't involved…

Besides, if it was a prank, the fact that Snape was ahead of him put him at ease. Whatever booby-trap that had been set-up, Snape would walk into it first, and if he didn't—by virtue of being a master of avoiding traps—Snape would disarm it, ensuring a safe pathway. Now, all he had to do was walk very quietly, follow Snape, and see what Lavender had been up to.

* * *

As soon as the door was pushed open, and she heard the footsteps nearing her hiding place, Hermione swiftly made the required wand movements to darken the room. She then sprang from the cupboard like a demon-possessed boggart, flailing her hands to find her target. Successfully locating him, she clutched the back of his neck, banished the voices that screamed she halt this nonsense, and brought his head down in a passionate kiss.

There was immediate resistance, but she clung on, jumping up to wrap her legs around his hips as she kissed his thin lips…

_Hmm, I vaguely remember his lips being a little fuller the last time I kissed him. And what's with these thick robes? He doesn't usually wear these…_

But she ignored the thought, kissing him hard even as he pushed against her shoulders. She worked her fingers into his scalp, through his greasy hair…

_Why does his hair feel so oily? Too much gel, I suppose…_

She was determined to get him to kiss her back, so she began dragging her hands along his sunken—_sunken? Why are they so hollow? He really needs to eat more_—cheeks, over his crooked nose—_when did it get so huge?_—over his broad shoulders—

The light suddenly came on.

Surprised, she wrenched her lips away from his, her eyes flying open immediately.

There, eyes angry slits, nostrils spread wide in fury, mouth contorted in an awful sneer, was Severus Snape. The man who's hips she had her legs wrapped tightly around. The man she'd been passionately kissing all along.

"Granger," he growled and Hermione's entire body grew paralysed with a mixture of shock and fear.

"Snape," she whispered, eyes wide as saucers. She'd kissed Snape. _She'd kissed Snape_. Her former Potions professor. Her best friend's boyfriend! This was bad. _Very_ bad. So bad, that there was no way this situation could get any worse.

Alas, it could.

Leaning idly against the door-frame, his features inscrutable, Draco spoke up:

"Well, isn't this a very romantic sight to behold."

* * *

**AN:** Because so many of you demanded…err…'asked very nicely'…for an update, I decided to oblige! I hope you enjoyed the funny bits. I swear, I was attacked by the giggles while writing this chapter, but maybe that's just me. :D Let me know what you think!

Thanks muchly, darlings, for your lovely praises. Every single review makes me smile. So imagine how I look when I'm, say, on the streetcar, and I get a review. That's right. Like a crazy person!


	10. Dix Chapitre

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

**Dix Chapitre**

"Miss Granger, please extricate yourself from my person before I lose my tenuous hold on my patience and shove you off myself."

Trembling, Hermione unwound her legs from Snape's hips and settled them to the floor. Her face an awful puce, she took two stiff steps backwards, highly aware that both Snape and Malfoy were staring at her. This moment had to be the most mortifying episode in her life—in any human being's life! When this event was over, and she was safely ensconced in her room, she'd be performing an immediate memory modification.

Snape's eyes glittered maliciously. "Miss Granger, I'm well aware of your ludicrous obsession with Mr. Malfoy here, but to have stooped to such a level…I confess myself disappointed. Still, let this be the final occasion that you involve me—whether unintentionally—in your ridiculous schemes. Do I make myself clear?"

Reduced to an image of a recalcitrant child being heavily scolded, Hermione bowed her head in shame, then answered: "Yes, professor."

Snape glared at her for a few seconds longer before turning smoothly on his heels and gliding out of the Divination classroom.

Silence.

_This is it,_ she thought. _I'm done. I'm finished with this. I'm finished with Draco Malfoy._

She wished she'd come to this conclusion before tonight. Actually, she had, but Lavender had convinced her to try again. And look what had happened: she'd ended up kissing Snape, Malfoy had caught her in the act, and Snape had further embarrassed her by admitting aloud her infatuation. Yes, she was finished with this desperation business.

Sighing heavily, she decided that what she needed to do was go down to her room, take a nice, hot bath, modify her memory, and then go have a peaceful, dreamless sleep. Mentally, she'd dusted her hands of Draco. It was obvious that they weren't meant to be if one judged by the enormous amount of adversity she faced to get him to like her.

Eyes firmly downcast, she made her way to the door. He was still leaning against the door-frame, and a moment of panic seized her at the knowledge that she'd have to pass by him very closely in order to leave. Still, she kept on, and when she was about to step around him, he purposefully straightened himself and blocked her path.

She looked up at him; he looked down at her.

He folded his hands over his chest; the silence and his unsmiling face unnerving her.

"Err…I'd like to pass…" she said softly.

He didn't move.

"If you could…umm…just move a little to the right…"

He took a step forwards instead. She immediately stepped back.

"Draco—"

"Snape?" he finally said, sounding very annoyed. "You mistook Snape for _me_?"

He knew. Oh, Merlin, he knew! "I…I—"

"Granger, of all the infuriating things you've done, I have to say this one champions them all."

He took another step forwards again, and she matched it by moving yet another step back.

"I don't know what you—"

"You kissed me on Saturday, didn't you?" he reminded, and her face—if possible—reddened some more. "And yet, you can't remember what it feels like to kiss me. Shall I refresh your memory, then?"

Hermione had only a few seconds to be completely astonished by Draco's words before he unfolded his arms, grabbed her forearms and pulled her in for a kiss.

He didn't waste time with a chaste pressing of the lips. Instead, he forced his tongue between her lips, impressing upon her his dominance by attacking her tongue mercilessly with his. He released her left forearm to grip the back of head, then her right forearm to encircle her waist, and pulled her body flush against his.

She moaned into his mouth, clutching the material of his loose shirt at his sides in her fists. Amazed by the intensity of his kiss, she tried her best to match him, relishing the feel of his lean, hard body against hers. Her desire was awakened, thrumming in the pit of her stomach as Draco relinquished her lips to trail his hot mouth across her jaw and down the side of her neck, then back up to kiss her hard again.

As soon as it began, it ended. He pushed away from her, his eyes the colour of storm-clouds as he stared at her intently.

"And now, the next time you go kissing strange men in the dark, you'll definitely know when it isn't me."

* * *

Retelling the events to Lavender hadn't been easy. There was never any simple way a girl could tell her best friend that she'd been shoving her tongue down her (best friend's) man's throat, and that she'd been rubbing up on aforementioned man's body like a cat in heat. There was only one—and very reasonable—reaction to such news: outrage.

But Lavender had taken the news surprisingly well, going so far as accepting the blame by admitting that she'd been the driving force behind Hermione's actions in the first place. Hermione had never been so relieved. An angry Lavender was a force akin to a hurricane and a volcanic eruption combined. To have that kind of fury directed her way was—no pun intended—disastrous.

However, Hermione hadn't been entirely truthful. Although she'd made mention of Draco witnessing the humiliating act, she'd neglected to divulge the extra bits where Draco did, indeed, kiss her. For some reason, she hadn't wanted to share that secret. Some superstitious belief had overcome her, had convinced her that if she told another soul what had happened between her and Draco, that any chance of having him would be crushed.

Because, despite her previous resolution of being 'finished with Draco' and 'dusting her hands of him,' his kissing her had renewed her hope.

Draco Malfoy was _not_ gay. She was sure of it. He probably didn't even hate her as much as he'd led her to believe (as Lavender had said). She was sure of that too. Draco Malfoy also knew that she didn't hate him either. If he was smart—and she knew he was—he'd have known by now that she quite liked him. If the Amortentia-laced cake, the quick kiss in the carriage, and the failed snog-attack scheme hadn't tipped him off, then Snape's proclamation surely had.

Yet, there was a problem. There was some unknown reason to her as to why he kept pushing her away. She had to locate the problem then immediately rectify it if she wanted a successful romance with Draco. But what was it? Now that his questionable homosexuality and loathing for her had been eliminated from the equation, what else could be the hindering factor?

Then it came to her: was it because of her Muggle-born status?

_Surely he's not still that prejudiced?_

But what if he was? What if, despite his defection from 'the dark side' and his outwardly unbiased behaviour, he was still the same disgusting bigoted snot his father had trained him up to be? In consideration, it was a great possibility! After all, he'd been under Lucius Malfoy's Pureblood supremacism tutelage for almost eighteen years. That kind of philosophy was fairly difficult to subvert.

_But he kissed me! He kissed me twice! _Hermione thought desperately.

Would he have kissed her…_touched_ her if he'd thought she had dirty—if she was a Muggle-born? If his awful ideologies on her status had been so ingrained, wouldn't he have shunned her instead? Wouldn't he have pushed her way, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in utter disgust, and hurled incredibly nasty insults at her?

But he hadn't done any of that. As a matter of fact, he'd initiated a kiss with her without her even asking it of him. He hadn't pushed her away, he'd pulled her close. Even now, she could still remember the feel of him pressed against her, enveloping her, kissing her…

This just didn't make any sense! None, whatsoever. It was all too confusing even for her intelligent mind to decipher. She supposed that the best way she could learn why Draco was hesitant to pursue her was by asking him herself. However, she was quite reluctant to do so. She didn't have that kind of fortitude to ask such a question or to receive any form of rejection if she did. Not yet.

_Besides,_ added an optimistic voice, _judging from his behaviour, I might not need to ask him. Maybe he'll kiss me again and allay all my fears._

* * *

And allay her fears he did not. Instead, he multiplied them by avoiding her. And when she did get the chance to see him, he completely ignored her presence.

She was flummoxed by his behaviour, although she reminded herself constantly that this was not uncommon. Just because he'd kissed her didn't mean that things had changed—even if she thought they had. Two measly kisses wouldn't suddenly turn a man head over heels in love with you. It wouldn't suddenly change his deep-seated opinions of you. And come to think of it, it probably wouldn't suddenly change his sexual orientation either.

Draco Malfoy could very well be…_bisexual_.

That unconsidered thought had her screaming in frustration into her pillows one night, at the beginning of the third week of August. Draco Malfoy: bisexual. Able to 'get it up' for both men _and_ women. The world was his playground; both genders like different flavoured pies he could stick his fingers—or another notable appendage—in and taste and enjoy. That _bastard_.

Good God, how could she have been so foolish, so blind? Why had that thought never crossed her mind? Here she'd been, smug in the notion that she'd overcome some great trial, that she'd _converted_ him, when, in actuality, he'd never changed at all. But, a voice in her head persisted:

_Even if he is bisexual, he _still_ kissed me. If he detested me, he wouldn't have done so._

And that was the pea beneath her mattress, wasn't it? There was no settling on one answer; no definite conclusion. Lying in bed, she was slowly going mad with suppositions and those wretched 'ifs and buts.' Did Draco like her? _If_ he did, then why was he ignoring her? Did Draco not like her? _But_ why did he kiss her _if _he didn't?

Going round and round in circles like a pup chasing its tail.

_I need to ask him. I need to find some courage and just go and ask him, because if I don't, I'll never have peace of mind.  
_

Her mouth a hard, straight line, her eyes staring unseeingly up at her cobweb infested ceiling, her fingers curled into tight fists, Hermione Granger decided right then and there that she was going to ask Draco Malfoy if he liked her. And if he replied that he most certainly didn't, then she was going to forget about him and move on.

* * *

"Really?" Lavender responded in awe after Hermione had finally told them about the kiss and her decision to confront Draco. "Hermione, that's very brave. Are you sure?"

"Of course, she's sure," nodded Ginny with a set look on her face. "No bloke's worth wasting your energy over."

In celebration of Ginny's one week return home from her duties as the star chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, Hermione and Lavender had taken her to an upscale pub in London where the quality of food was worth the astronomical prices on the menu. As close girlfriends were wont to do, they caught each other up on their love lives; Hermione's being the main topic of discussion.

"Besides," continued Ginny, "I can't believe you even like that pointy-faced ferret. What do you see in him, anyway?"

Hermione immediately rose to Draco's defence. "He's not pointy-faced, Gin. He's actually become quite handsome…"

Lavender nodded in agreement.

Ginny scoffed. "That still doesn't explain your interest in that beast. Hermione, have you forgotten the many, many times he's teased you, and the odd occasion he's made you cry?"

"Of course I've remembered," replied Hermione tersely. "But I've forgiven him. I've realised that he said those hurtful things because he was under Lucius Malfoy's horrid influence."

"But, Hermione, he still treats you awfully," reminded Lavender in quiet tones.

Hermione frowned. "Lavender, aren't you the one who has been encouraging me to pursue him?" Then, "Yes, he's still mean towards me, but I'd like to think he's not _as_ mean as he used to be. I…I didn't fancy him at first. It was just that I admired him. I admired his strength."

Ginny scoffed again. "What strength?"

Hermione ignored her. "Lucius Malfoy used to be Voldemort's right-hand man, he's also Draco's father. Do you know how hard it must have been for him to have betrayed his father? To have gone to that Wizengamot court and testified against the man that you had idolised all your life? To have reintegrated into a society that distrusted you? To attempt to have a semblance of a normal life despite the horrors and the psychological trauma you must have faced being Lucius Malfoy's son?"

Ginny and Lavender were very quiet now as they watched her; the atmosphere around their table tense and alert.

"I admired him," she repeated. "I watched him a lot, and then, one day, when I was watching him, I said to myself, 'you know, he's come to be quite good-looking,' and it's such a superficial reason, but I suppose that's the moment my admiration crossed the line into my fancying him."

She exhaled heavily, feeling freer, like if she'd just relinquished some burden from her weary shoulders. It was the first time she'd been truly able to examine her feelings for Draco, and, uncharacteristically—because she was generally a private person-it felt good sharing it with her two closest friends.

After taking a long pull from her drink, Ginny finally said: "Well, it's all fine and dandy that you like him, Hermione, but the great question here is if _he_ likes _you_."

Lavender nodded. "Yes, that's right. Maybe you really should go and ask him. It'll save you the worry lines."

Ginny nodded as well. "And, as I said before, no bloke's worth wasting your energy over, or suffering the injustice of worry lines. Go ask him. If he says no, eff him. His loss."

Lavender piped up, eyes glittering mischievously. "Besides, as my Aunt Brenda always says: the best way to get over one man is to get under another—"

"Lavender!" cried Hermione in scandalised tones, and the three of them erupted into hearty laughter.

* * *

Her courage buoyed by her friends' encouragement, and her liberal consumption of alcohol, that night, Hermione made her way to Draco's room. She didn't quite care that it was going on two in the morning and that Draco might be most displeased if she woke him by her knocking. She also didn't care that she hadn't thought of her approach.

When he opens the door, I'll just ask him the question straightaway.

That was her grand plan. Straightforwardness. No beating around the bush for either of them tonight. She would ask him a straight question, and he would give her a straight answer. And if that answer existed in the realms of 'negative,' then, thank Merlin for the deadening powers of alcohol. And magic. One could not forget the magic. An immediate _Obliviate_ would ensure he'd not remember the episode.

She wasn't drunk, but she was more than a little tipsy. Half of her senses still remained, and it questioned the ethics of casting an _Obliviate_ on someone against their will. It also questioned where the hell she was because she was sure she'd seen that dratted painting of _Henry the Horrible_ before…

Hermione stood still.

Was she lost?

Most definitely she was because she'd never been here before.

Hogwarts was such a confusing building. All those ridiculous trap doors, hidden walls, disappearing steps and hallways, charmed toilets that led to disturbing dungeons that had once been the hiding place for enormous, poisonous snakes…

It was like if some crazy lady had decided to write some fanciful book about a 'magical place' and had got far too carried away…

_I'll just cast a Four-Point spell and I'll be back on familiar grounds—_

She suddenly heard low mumbling.

Curious, she began to edge her way to the direction of the sound. Who could it be up this late? Most likely two wayward students in a scandalous rendezvous. It was a common trend during the summer holidays. Curfews were usually relaxed and patrolling professors tended to be a little more forgiving. Therefore, students took the opportunity to get up to all sorts of things they shouldn't be involved in.

_Well,_ Hermione thought, _I'm not having any of that!_

Plans of confronting Draco forgotten, Hermione crept closer and closer to the direction of the voices. She could make out snippets of the conversation now.

"…want you, you're mine to…"

"…end this, I'll make sure…"

A chuckle. "…that stupid Mudblood, isn't it? I knew…"

"…means nothing to me…"

The voices were coming from that door. Maybe it was a storage room or an old classroom. It didn't matter. What mattered was those two who were speaking.

"…don't care, anyway. You're mine."

Then, there was the sound of clothing being ruffled. Obviously, they were taking their clothing off. And there was only one reason why two students would need to take off their clothes…and it wasn't for curricular activities.

Grabbing the doorknob, she spun it—thinking how foolish or overconfident these students were to leave the door unlocked—and flung the door open. Determined to catch them in the act, Hermione jumped inside the room as the door was swinging inward, eyes shifting left to right until she located the two forms jammed up against the wall opposite her.

The room was dark, but on one of the desks—it had been an old classroom, after all—stood a lantern. From the muted, amber glow of the fire, Hermione easily made out the back of the head of a brown and curly-haired boy. From the way his head was angled, he was obviously _kissing_ someone. The alcohol made her thought processes a bit slow, so she was just thinking how familiar that boy's head looked when he turned around to face her.

Herman Ranger.

And then her entire body went completely rigid with shock as she identified the other person. The person whom Herman had been kissing.

Draco Malfoy.

He looked as surprised as she felt. And if it was a different situation, she might have appreciated the comical way his features had contorted: eyebrows lifted high, eyes wide, mouth gaping open.

But it _wasn't_ a different situation. It was this one. A bad one. An absolutely _awful_ one. One that made her feel like she'd been triply punched in the gut by a professional boxer. One that made her chest constrict so tightly, she couldn't breathe. She realised, right then, that heartbreak was real. It wasn't the clichéd 'shattering into a million pieces.' Heartbreak was a rapid shrivelling of the organ. The pain was immense, the motions like a tide: rolling in, then receding, rolling in, then receding.

She dug her fingers into the material of her shirt over where her heart was. She took one step back.

Draco lifted a hand towards her, stepping forwards once. "Granger—"

"No…" she shook her head, eyes wide, breathing hard. She couldn't believe this. _She couldn't believe this._ She took another step back. "No…"

"Granger, wait—"

"_No_…"

And she turned around, hand still clutching her chest, and ran blindly away.

* * *

**AN:** Does this ending constitute a cliff-hanger? I'm not sure. But I do know I'll be receiving some angry screams to update, mixed in with 'damn you!' Hehe! Let me know what you think! Also, thank you, dearies, for taking the time to review the previous chapter. Many of you had questions—a few were highly pissed by Hermione's behaviour—but I swear that all questions will be answered, and all wrinkles will be ironed out in time. Just bear with me. :)


	11. Onze Chapitre

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

**Onze Chapitre**

Hardly anyone saw Hermione Granger for the remaining week of August. Not even her close friend Lavender Brown. She had sentenced herself to a hermitical life, and the only other life-forms that saw her were the house-elves that delivered her meals. However, when the summer holidays were over, and school restarted on September 1st, Hermione was forced to break her seclusion to teach her students.

But she wasn't the same, and the students noticed this.

_Something's wrong with Professor Granger,_ they whispered. _She's different somehow,_ they mused. And they were absolutely right. Something _was_ wrong with her; she _was_ different somehow. Who wouldn't be changed if one had suffered the horrid experience Hermione Granger had gone through? Granted, it wasn't anything as horrendous as rape or extreme physical abuse, but witnessing the one you yearned for—the one you had believed had yearned for you too—kissing another was a rather traumatising event.

It was _heartbreaking_.

And that was the change in Hermione Granger: she was significantly heartbroken.

And disappointed. So very disappointed in the one who'd broken her heart in the first place.

Without wanting to, as she was educating her fourth-year Gryffindor-Ravenclaw students on the historical basis of the centaurs' hostility towards humans, the memory of Draco and Herman kissing came to her, and she forget what she was talking about. She stuttered and stammered, nervously flipping through her notes to regain her footing, conscious of the many young pairs of eyes on her, but she could not remember anything. That dreadful memory kept replaying itself in a loop, focussing especially on that moment Herman had turned around, and she'd seen—

"Class dismissed!" she cried.

The class stared at her, wide-eyed in disbelief at their good fortune at leaving History of Magic thirty-minutes early.

"Leave! Now!" she demanded. They didn't need telling twice. They all grabbed up their books and bags, and scampered off to lollygag somewhere until their next class.

Sitting heavily in her seat, she propped her elbows on her desk, and covered her face with her palms. Using the tips of her fingers, she began massaging the flat of her forehead, determined to banish the memory back to the far recesses of her mind. Why she hadn't performed a memory modification upon herself yet was beyond her. Maybe she was a masochist at heart, leaving the memory untroubled to torture herself with from time to time.

_No, it's to remind myself that having hope for Draco to like me is…hopeless._

And it was. She'd learnt that lesson in the hardest way ever. Draco Malfoy was a lost cause. He was no longer worth her time and her energy. She can't believe she'd wasted so many months plotting to gain his attention, only to discover it was entirely directed elsewhere. The things she'd done! The levels she'd stooped to! All for that hateful git who'd been carrying on an extraordinarily improper relationship with an under-aged student!

She ought to report him. She was in a particularly spiteful enough mindset to march right up to Headmistress McGonagall's office and reveal what she'd seen—Pensieve memories included. It would just serve him right, the bastard, for making her feel like her heart had been ripped from her chest, thrown to the floor and had been subsequently trampled on by an obese elephant. The betrayal he'd feel upon facing the consequences of her tattling would be akin to what she had felt when she had caught him snogging Herman.

Well, not akin, but close. Fairly close.

"Granger."

Startled, she dropped her palms from her face and looked up. There stood Draco just within the door of the classroom, dressed, for once, in his teaching robes. There was a rare look of uncertainty on his face, and his hair looked like he'd run his fingers through it too many times to count.

Speak of the devil…

Immediately, she shuffled her notes together, hastily recapped her ink bottles, grabbed up her quills, and shoved everything haphazardly into her briefcase.

"Well, would you just look at the time!" she said, her voice high and squeaky as she snapped the bolts shut on her briefcase.

"Granger, I need—" he began, but she launched herself to her feet, her chair clattering noisily on its side to the floor by her sudden movement.

"Silly me! I'm so very late for my next class!" She rounded the desk, her hip grazing painfully against the edge as she passed. "I'm afraid I must be on my way!"

"Granger—"

But she had already zoomed by him, out of the classroom, and completely out of earshot.

* * *

The next time he tried approaching was later that day.

She was on her way to her final class—third year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff students—for the evening when she saw him heading towards her in the other direction.

"Granger—"

"Oh my!" she cried in that high, squeaky voice. "I can't believe I've forgotten my…err…wand! I must go and retrieve it!"

She made an immediate about-face and began walking swiftly away from him. Alas, Draco decided to follow her.

"Granger, for Merlin's sake, you always carry your wand in your left sleeve."

It surprised her that he knew this inconsequential titbit about her.

"Well, I seem to remember forgetting to put it there!"

"You _remembered_ you forgot it?"

"Yes! Of course!"

"Granger, would you please just—"

"Well, it was quite nice chatting with you, Mr. Malfoy, but I mustn't tarry any longer!"

"Granger!"

And, with unnatural speed, Hermione hurried away.

* * *

But Draco persisted he be heard, by hook or by crook.

The next evening, after she'd had dinner and was drafting up a homework plan for her sixth year classes, a piece of parchment sailed in through her open window and landed neatly before her on her desk. Curious, she picked up the paper and stared at it, wondering where it had come from. She was more than surprised when, all of a sudden, words began to appear on the parchment:

_Granger, I need you to listen—_

Dropping the parchment like if it had suddenly turned scalding hot, she grabbed up her wand and cast an immediate Fire-Making charm on it. It burned into a tiny bundle of ash before regenerating instantly back into a whole parchment. Horrified, she watched as writing appeared on the parchment again.

_Did you just burn my parchment? Granger, I—_

"Incendio!"

The parchment regenerated again.

_Granger, this is getting really old, really fast._

"Incendio!"

_You're either awfully stubborn or awfully stupid. I'm leaning towards the latter._

Infuriated by the parchment's inability to be destroyed, and his audacious slur on her intelligence, Hermione grabbed up her quill, dipped it in her bottle of ink and wrote back angrily:

_So I may be, but at least I'm not stupid enough to be cavorting with under-aged students, especially on school premises, you dirty, rotten bastard! Now leave me alone!_

She was breathing fast, glaring at the parchment as though daring it—or him—to add something. But nothing else came. The parchment remained blank for the rest of the night.

* * *

"I wonder what he wanted to say?" mused Lavender. "Aha! You've landed on Park Lane, and I own it. Pay me my rent, you sneaky cow!"

It was the second Friday of September, and they were currently in Hermione's room playing a game of Monopoly as they took a breather from schoolwork. Lavender was surprisingly good at the game, already owning more than half of the board, all of the stations and all of the utilities. It also didn't help Hermione that she'd already been to jail twice, and had had to funds up on the Super Tax on various occasions, as well as the rent to Lavender whenever she landed on an owned property of Lavender's.

"I don't care about what he had to say," replied Hermione in an off-hand tone as she handed over a twenty, ten and five pound Monopoly note. "Here. Merlin, this is robbery, I tell you!"

Lavender grinned. "Well, that's just too bad because since I own Mayfair, it's double rent. Seventy quid, missy! Funds up!"

Hermione relinquished her remaining fifty pound note and two ten pound notes. "Greedy cow."

"That's right!" Lavender laughed. "Anyway, you should've let him speak, Hermione. You never know if he was going to change his mind."

"He wasn't," said Hermione flatly.

"You don't know that," countered Lavender.

But Hermione did. She did know that Draco Malfoy hadn't been on his way to 'change his mind,' because the story Hermione had told Lavender had been entirely different.

Unwilling, for some reason, to share what she'd seen concerning Draco and Herman, Hermione had lied to Lavender and claimed she'd marched up to Draco's room that fateful night, had pounded on his door until he'd opened it, and had asked him the straight question: do you like me? In which he'd answered with a scoffing 'no.' However, Hermione defended to herself, she hadn't really _lied_. Draco _had_ told her no—but in a roundabout way. That kiss with Herman had spoke volumes. He'd made his choice, and it wasn't her.

Ever since that evening with the indestructible note, she hadn't heard from him nor seen him, and that was just fine with her. Out of sight, out of mind, and out of the question that she'd ever want to be with him. She'd admired his tenacity, she'd even felt a little nice by his sudden persistent attention, but fearful she'd regress to her old fanciful ideas, she'd been determined to avoid hearing what he had had to say.

Besides, he'd probably just wanted to ensure she wouldn't go tattling to the Headmistress about what she'd seen. He was well aware of Headmistress McGonagall's respect for her, and he knew that even the slightest accusation from her tongue about his dalliances with a student would equate to an immediate termination of his teaching contract at Hogwarts. Like the true yellow-belly he was, he was scared and only trying to protect himself.

_I really need to stop thinking about Draco Malfoy._

Yes, she really did, because she was one hundred percent certain that he was not thinking about her.

* * *

Early Saturday morning, she received a note from Robert requesting an outing for later that day. Remembering their wonderful picnic on their last date, she immediately re-sent a note, agreeing to see him. She was so happy she hadn't abandoned Robert as she'd planned to do. Now that she was determined to get over Draco Malfoy, Robert Loughie with his butterfly-inducing smiles was the perfect cure for her heartbreak.

She supposed she was using the poor man. He hadn't been her first choice, after all, and it was only when things had gone especially sour for her with Draco did she think of Robert. And that was awful, because in his application, Robert had stated he'd wanted a serious relationship. He wanted a wife, children and all the bells and whistles that came attached with that lifestyle. Not some heartbroken woman to use him as a substitute or as a 'rebound man.'

He was a good, honest and extraordinarily handsome man. Any woman would kill to have him as their own. Yet she did. And what was she doing with him? Using him as a 'distraction.'

_Ok, no more time-wasting, Hermione! He's a good man. He's the kind of man you want. Stop faffing about and get serious!_

That evening, Hermione dressed to kill. She wore a short, strapless black dress, and a pair of sexy, black high heels. With Lavender's help, she tamed her hair into submission, but forfeited the use of make-up.

"Are you going to sleep with him tonight?" queried Lavender, who was not above having sex on the first date.

"No," answered Hermione immediately.

"Don't be such a prude!" Lavender teased. "Besides, you look like the perfect trollop in that dress. He won't be thinking about anything else _but_ sex."

Hermione smiled. "Let him. But that doesn't mean he's going to get any. This is just to whet his appetite."

Lavender laughed and patted Hermione's shoulder congenially. "You've learnt well, my student. You've learnt well."

* * *

Unfortunately, Hermione's date with Robert went horribly wrong.

The first indicator that things were taking a southward turn was when Robert showed up and barely looked at her. Even though she wore a jacket over her mini-dress, she'd purposely left it open to showcase the ample amount of skin she was revealing. It was as though he wouldn't have cared if she'd shown up wearing a spotty pillow case, and a pair of Japanese _geta_.

The second indicator was when, instead of a fancy restaurant or a nice club or an even nicer pub, he took her to the beginning of the Forbidden forest. He'd taken some heretofore unknown shortcut from the outside the walls of Hogwarts; a paved, winding pathway that ended at the darkened mouth of the forest. Finally, he looked at her, a little smile on his face as he motioned towards the entrance of the forest.

"In there? You want me—us to go _in there_?" she enquired in surprised tones. She'd rather amputate her fingers and toes and other various body parts without anaesthesia than waltz into the Forbidden forest. The bad experiences that had occurred within that region were too fresh in her memory to ignore.

Robert looked her up and down. "Well, I suppose you're not dressed very well for the walk, but it's a short way in."

"But there's nothing inside the Forbidden forest but trees and…and…creatures," she replied, looking at him worriedly.

He smiled and Hermione was startled by the sinister quality of his features. In the dark, his blue-green eyes looked especially dark, and he seemed to have acquired extra height, looming over her with his imposing tallness. She took a step back, glancing around nervously, fully realising how alone they were in this area. From far up the hill, she could just make out the golden glow of Hogwarts, and she longed to be within those thick walls, safe from a situation that she was sure was becoming dangerous.

"Robert, I-I think I'd like to go home," she said quietly.

"Come, Hermione, we've only just begun our date," he replied, stepping closer to her, still smiling.

Hermione stepped back hurriedly. "Err…well, I-I've suddenly remembered I've got quite the workload to…err…sort through and…and that maybe it'll be best if I go—"

Robert suddenly reached out and grabbed her elbow. His smile was completely gone now, his face contorted into a terrible sneer.

"You'll not be going anywhere, Hermione. The only place you'll be going is out of existence."

* * *

He'd managed to disarm her the moment she'd whipped out her wand, and then he had cast a Body-bind curse and a Silencing charm on her. Hoisting her over his shoulder like bagged goods, he then carried her into the depths of the Forbidden forest.

Hermione was beyond terrified, and more than a little angry with herself. Why was Robert doing this? What was he going to do to her? Who was he, truly? Why hadn't she been more vigilant in determining whether he was safe to date or not? For Merlin's sake, she was Hermione Granger! Good friend of the infamous Harry Potter who had vanquished Voldemort, and who, no doubt, still had enemies lurking around!

Robert Loughie was probably a die-hard supporter of Voldemort, and had planned all along to abduct her so Harry could come running to be killed. 'Robert Loughie' probably wasn't even his real name! It was perhaps a pseudonym for one of the remaining Death Eaters who'd managed to escape sentencing those many years ago, and was hoping to revive 'the cause' by kidnapping her.

Merlin! What if there were others waiting wherever he was taking her?

She was so foolish! She had trusted this man! Had called him good and honest! How could she have been so gullible? He'd been too good to be true, and she should've been highly suspicious of him from the word go. If Harry did come looking for her and died trying, she'd never forgive herself. Well, if he was killed, then most likely they'd kill her too, and her naiveté would be responsible for her own and Harry's death.

As they descended deeper into the forest, Hermione grew more fearful. She wished she could move. She wished she had her wand. She wished she'd never agreed to go out with Robert in the first place. If only she'd—

A sudden jet of bright green light struck Robert's back and his body was pitched forwards. She fell from his shoulder with a hard thump to the floor, and she cried out mutely from the pain, though her mouth was unable to open. She was lying mostly on her front, her body tilted just enough for her to breathe out of right nostril. In the darkness, she couldn't see much, but she could hear the sound of footsteps rustling through the dead leaves of the forest floor, coming towards her.

The person passed behind her, and she longed to see who it was, hoping desperately that it was a familiar face. Moments later, she felt the Body-bind curse relax from her body, and a warm hand on her shoulder turning her onto her back. There, squatting on his haunches, gazing down at her, his blonde hair looking like platinum in the gloom as it fell over his forehead, was Draco Malfoy. Her saviour.

"Hello, Granger."

The relief and elation at being rescued washed over her like a powerful tidal wave. It swept away her terror, her anxiety, and submerged her common sense, too. Because, instead of blubbering words of immense gratitude as a sane person would, she sat up, threw her arms around Draco's neck, reached up and kissed him.

* * *

AN: Good grief! I really _am_ on a roll with these cliff-hangers, aren't I? You readers ought to invest in those squishy 'stress-balls' when reading this story. It'll give you something to squeeze viciously when you can't access my head. Mwhahahaha! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for the many, many wonderful reviews (and alerts and favourites) for the previous chapter! You peeps are the awesomest!


	12. Douze Chapitre

**AN:** I tried picking out the stranded typos, but I'm sure some are still lurking amidst the proper words, waiting to jump out and scare you with their awfulness... :(

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

**Douze Chapitre**

And then, as soon as she pressed her lips to his, the image of Herman doing just the same thing came to her, and she immediately pulled back. Horrified, she stared at him. He had a strange look on his face as he watched her, and when, to her great surprise, he leaned in as though to kiss her again, she scuttled backwards, and then scrambled to her feet. Dusting her rear-end free of dirt and twigs, she cleared her throat.

"Err…well, thank you for rescuing me, Dra—Mr. Malfoy," she said stiffly. "I suppose I'm now in your debt. In any case, this horrific incident has unsettled me, and I'm afraid I must take my leave immediately."

He stood, still gazing at her intently. "Right."

She edged past him, and when she was already a few feet away, she remembered Robert had confiscated her wand. Turning, she eyed the unconscious lump that was Robert, and then held out her hand: "_Accio_ wand!"

Her wand shot out from beneath Robert's frame and zoomed into her palm. She met Draco's gaze once more before turning away and running—she had to stop eventually and take off those dratted heels—straight back to Hogwarts.

* * *

_How did he know where to find me?_

This was the question that prevailed in her head the following day, along with the ever more important: _why did I kiss him?_

Had he been following them? And if so, for how long? Why had neither she nor Robert noticed him? Well, she was immensely grateful he'd had the good sense to remain hidden. If it hadn't been for his stealth and his strong cursing ability, Merlin knows what would have been her fate. No doubt a pawn in some sordid, evil 'world-domination' type of plot. Who knows? Maybe it wasn't that exaggerated. Maybe it had been a simplistic, yet just as terrible, attempt to rape her.

Hermione shuddered, feeling as though an uncomfortably cold finger had slithered up her spine.

Still, she quite believed that rape hadn't been Robert's intention. She'd been dressed like a prime tart, and Robert had given her as much attention as a cat given a bowl of vegetables to eat. Besides, despite last night's occurrence, she still couldn't evict the images of Robert's kind smile and respectful manners. Yes, he'd been up to something wicked, but he didn't seem the type to be a rapist…

_Don't be such a gullible ninny, Hermione! It's what got you in that bad situation last night in the first place!_

The little voice in her head was right. She'd been exceptionally foolish of late, compounded each idiotic act with an even greater one. How was it that someone who'd been given the moniker 'brightest witch of her age' be able to make such monumentally stupid mistakes, one after the other? The greatest one being becoming besotted with her homosexual childhood enemy.

And kissing him after she'd witnessed him kissing a student.

_He had looked he'd been about to kiss me back, though,_ piped up a hopeful voice. And it simultaneously angered and surprised her at the various flavours of voices that existed within her head. She was only twenty-three and she was already suffering from delusions…

It was then that she remembered her birthday. It was due the coming Sunday. Her spirits rose at the thought of letters and gifts and well-wishes she'd be receiving, before they dropped again. She was turning twenty-four. One more year older. One year closer to twenty-five, which was close to thirty, which was close to forty, which meant that soon, she'd be categorised as 'middle-aged.'

Middle-aged and single. And lonely, at the rate she was going. Sentenced to a life of spinsterhood. Adapting crocheting and baking as her hobbies, eyesight growing prematurely poor due to lengthy devotion to reading, since the only company she'd be sharing was a ten-year old, mean little kitty bearing a resemblance to Crookshanks. Her weekdays would be spent teaching History of Magic to uninspired pupils. Her weeknights would be spent grading abysmal homework essays. Her weekends would be spent with Professor McGonagall—an old woman by then—regurgitating tired conversations on dull topics like Wizarding politics and the weather.

The imagined bleakness of her future put her in such a depressed mood that it lasted throughout the remainder of the day.

* * *

For the following week, Hermione was so overcome with her teaching duties, she soon forgot all about the incident with Robert, and the kiss with Draco. Occasionally, snippets would come back to her, but she would manage to banish them back to whence they'd come. It also helped that ever since that night, Draco had yet to be seen. Thank Merlin.

But teaching wasn't the only thing that consumed her attention. She'd also begun to notice something strange about Lavender. For some reason, her friend had become increasingly distant of late: giving her cool, straight answers to her questions, staying away from meals, always looking preoccupied with her own thoughts. Lavender was even avoiding her, employing the same tactics Hermione, herself, had used on Draco by making immediate about-faces in the next direction when she noticed Hermione was coming her way.

But why? Had she upset Lavender in some way? Was this because of the kiss with Severus Snape? Hadn't Lavender already forgiven her for that? Then came a tiny voice:

_Has she grown tired of me? Of our friendship?_

It pained her to think that was the case. She was also surprised at how insecure she sounded. But she couldn't help dreading losing Lavender as a friend. Over the past year, she'd been doing nothing but burdening Lavender with her romantic woes concerning Draco. Come to think of it, she'd been particularly selfish, their conversations usually revolving around her. When last had she volunteered her shoulder for Lavender to cry on? When last had she provided positive encouragement or worthwhile advice? When last had she been a good friend?

The memories of all the things Lavender had done for her flooded her mind, and she felt ashamed. Merlin. She was a horrible, horrible friend. No doubt, Lavender had finally come to her senses. She'd noticed the parasitic nature of their friendship, and was now performing a metaphorical extermination. What use was a friend that took and took and never gave?

_I'll make it up to her. I'll take her to a really nice pub on Saturday, and we'll only talk about her. We'll not mention anything about me and Draco whatsoever._

Feeling much better having come to that decision, she left the library where she'd been doing some research, and made her way to dinner. She was in the passageway that led to the Great Hall when she spotted Herman coming in the other direction. Her body grew tense, even as she continued to walk. It had become a common occurrence for her now to be uncomfortable in his presence. She couldn't even look at him during her History of Magic classes with the seventh years. And when she did make the mistake of looking at him, all she ever saw was that moment when she'd caught him kissing Draco.

_Come to think of it, I should admonish him. I may not have had the courage to rebuke Draco, but Herman is a student. I have the authority here._

"Hello, Mr. Ranger," she said, coming to a stop before him. "Might I speak to you for a moment?"

Herman gave her a cold look. "About what?"

She was a little put out by his rude tone of voice, but she forged ahead. "About that night I encountered you and Professor Malfoy in a…umm…highly improper rendezvous."

He folded his hands across his slim chest and scowled at her. "So?"

"_So?_" she repeated in astonished tones. "Mr. Ranger, are you not aware of the rule in this institution that implicitly prohibits romantic relations between a teacher and a student? You _are_ Head Boy, after all. But that title can be taken away—"

His scowl deepened. "Professor, are you _threatening_ me?"

"Mr. Ranger, I am not threatening you. I am merely enlightening you—"

"Because if you are," he continued, interrupting her, "let it be known that I don't take kindly to threats, especially from people like you. Don't think I'm not aware of your silly obsession with Draco."

"How _dare_ you—"

"I know, Professor Granger," he interrupted yet again, stepping closer. "I know of all your ridiculous schemes to get Draco, so don't come preaching to me about impropriety, you hypocritical _Mudblood_. But let me tell you this:" he stepped closer still, his face very close to hers, his voice low and menacing, "back off. Draco's mine and mine alone. You get in my way, and I'll make sure something gets in yours. Permanently."

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish recently plucked from the ocean, unable to utter a word in her shock.

Giving her a look of total disgust, he stepped backwards then swerved around her to continue on his way.

* * *

Her appetite completely lost after the disturbing conversation with Herman, Hermione returned to her room, extremely infuriated. The nerve of that little prat! He was outrageously rude and audacious. And a bigot too! Calling her that vile word 'Mudblood!' With such an atrocious attitude, how had he managed to be sorted into Gryffindor? Had the Sorting Hat been intoxicated or was he truly as deceptive as Lydia had claimed?

_You get in my way, and I'll make sure something gets in yours. Permanently._

That had most definitely been a threat. There was no other way she could interpret such menacing words. Especially when she considered the hate and disgust burning in his eyes for her. Herman meant serious business. He was dangerous. If he was capable of blatant threats like that, then who knew what else? She needed to alert the headmistress about this immediately before any—

_And what will you tell the headmistress?_

What indeed. Because, if she was to fully convey the seriousness of Herman's threat, she'd have to tell Professor McGonagall everything. Including her discovery of Herman and Draco in that abandoned classroom. There was no question about what would happen next. Draco would be summoned to the headmistress' office, and he'd be fired on the spot. And, most likely, she would still be in the headmistress' office when that happened, and he'd know she was the one that went blabbering…

_Maybe there's some way I can solve this on my own…_

Herman had made a threat on her life, but she didn't want to be the cause of Draco's unemployment. She'd seen how hard he'd worked to be accepted back into society. She knew he actually liked his job as a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Despite the numerous occasions he'd been downright nasty to her, and his idiotic stunt in that classroom, she didn't want to undo his efforts carelessly.

She'd much rather a way to solve this problem where all three of them felt satisfied with the end result. Instead of telling Professor McGonagall, maybe she should notify Draco first. She would warn him about Herman's disturbing behaviour, demand he rectify it in a professional manner, and imply in very unsubtle tones that if she learnt of further romantic goings-on between him and Herman whilst Herman was still a student at Hogwarts, she'd be heading straight to Professor McGonagall with the news.

* * *

The next day, Friday, she tried locating Draco but failed. His classes ran concurrently with hers, and even though she raced to catch him before he left the DADA classroom at the end of the period, he still could not be found. When Saturday rolled around, he was still nowhere to be seen, even at mealtimes. At dinner that evening, she was sitting at the professors' table, munching on her lettuce from her chicken salad, feeling very annoyed with Draco's disappearing act, when Lavender sat down next to her.

_Oh no! I forgot about Lavender! Once again, stupid Malfoy has been on my mind…_

"Hi, Lavender," she said, guilt settling in her stomach like heavy stones. "How've you been?"

"Fine," answered Lavender coolly, reaching for the pitcher of apple juice.

Determined to make things right: "Lavender, I was meaning to tell you—"

"Hermione," Lavender interrupted, turning to stare at Hermione, a very serious look on her pretty face, "we need to talk."

Perturbed by Lavender's ominous tone, Hermione answered nervously, "Err…alright. What about?"

"Not now," Lavender answered, turning away to sip at her juice. "It's too important to discuss here. Plus, I've got to meet Severus tonight, so tomorrow. Come around at six. We'll have tea and biscuits, and we'll talk. Okay?"

Nodding, dismayed that their talk might actually mean 'disbanding of their friendship' (and on her birthday, to boot), Hermione replied: "Okay."

Ever punctual, Hermione turned up at Lavender's door at six on the dot the next day. She usually let herself in, but feeling as though her friendship with Lavender was already on shaky ground, and unwilling to upset it further, she decided to knock first. At the first rap of her knuckles on the door, she noticed that the door was not only unlocked, but partially opened.

"Lavender?" she called, pushing open the door to admit herself into the darkened room. "Lav—"

"Surprise!" sang a chorus of voices as the light suddenly flicked on. "Happy birthday, Hermione!"

A huge smile usurped Hermione's face as she gazed upon the various familiar faces grinning back at her. She couldn't believe it. They'd planned a surprise birthday party for her. For her! Lavender was at the forefront, looking extremely smug as she looped her arm around Ginny's shoulder. Ginny! Ginny was there even though she'd thought she'd gone back to France with the Holyhead Harpies! And there was Harry, and…her parents! Her mum and dad, looking very Muggle besides…Molly and Arthur! And there was Bill and Fleur—still as beautiful as ever even though she was six months pregnant—and Luna and Neville and…oh Merlin…was that _Ron_? It _was_ Ron!

Gobsmacked, all she could say was: "Wow!"

* * *

Hermione couldn't remember when last she'd truly enjoyed herself as much as she was at her surprise birthday party. She was so happy, she felt she could just float away on a cloud of elation. It was so wonderful being around loving and supportive family and friends! To think she'd hardly communicated with them over the course of the year. Of course, she'd sent the requisite letters, but that night, she thought she much preferred speaking to them in person.

She even liked talking to Ron!

He seemed to have changed somewhat. He still had that likable boyish charm and sweet smile, but there was an undercurrent of adultness she'd never witnessed in him before. He'd kept to himself at first, only speaking when spoken to, but when she'd approached him, his face had lit up like the sun on a hot summer's day. He'd stammered and blushed a lot, obviously trying hard to make a good impression on her, and his efforts had melted her heart.

Especially when he'd decided to apologise once more for cheating on her, his eyes big and soulful, sounding very earnest...

She'd wanted to hug him. But then he'd gone on to reveal he was dating Luna, and how absolutely _good_ she made him feel, and all those mushy feelings to hug him had disappeared.

It was after nine now, but the party was still going strong. Molly and her mum were discussing the intricacies of living room curtains, Arthur was looking very fascinated as her dad described the mechanics of a washing machine. Harry and Ron were in the middle of a game of Wizard's Chess—Harry had brought along the board, determined to beat Ron once and for all—Bill was telling Neville some tale that had Neville holding his side as he bent over with laughter, and Ginny, Lavender, Fleur and Luna were offering up their opinions on whether Fleur should have a water birth or not.

Smiling, Hermione grabbed up a chocolate biscuit, intent on joining the girls on their discussion of water births, when a parchment folded in the shape of an aeroplane zoomed up right in front of her. Frowning, she grabbed it and unfolded it. There were only two words written on it:

_Come here._

Her frown morphed into a scowl. There was only one person who could sound so insufferably arrogant.

She glared at the parchment, knowing Draco's penchant for bothersome parchment paper with regenerative abilities. She'd derive no satisfaction from burning it. Only a headache. So, glancing around, her eyes fell on Lavender's desk that was shoved out of the way into a corner. She went to it, rooting around for a quill and ink, finding them almost immediately.

She wrote back: _No. I'm preoccupied._

_Granger, don't make me come get you. Come. Now._

Her mouth dropped open. The nerve of that pompous git! Who did he think he was, trying to boss her around like that? He really was—

_I have something to show you._

Curiosity swiftly superseded her indignation. _Besides,_ she reminded herself, _I have to talk to him about Herman. Now might be the best chance…_

_Where are you? _

_Follow the parchment._

She lifted her hand away from the parchment and watched as it refolded itself into an aeroplane and zoomed towards the door. Hollering to the room that she'd be right back, Hermione opened the door and tried to keep up with the miniature aeroplane as it zipped through the corridors, down various steps, outside the building, across the grassy slope, to finally slow as it neared a tall figure standing a few feet away from the lake.

Only when she was almost near the figure did she realise that this could be a trap. She paused and reached for her wand. What if it wasn't Draco?

A cloud passed, allowing the moon—only three-quarters full—to illuminate the darkness in a soft silver glow. She could make out the blonde hair, and when he turned to face her, there was no mistaking those sharp grey eyes, that proud, slim nose, those thin, firm lips. Draco Malfoy. Handsome little bugger a la Robert Loughie.

He came and stood in front of her, and she felt a pull. An inexplicable tug originating from somewhere deep inside of her. She supposed it was yearning. The old hope resurfacing; the longing for him to close the distance, to hold her in his arms, to whisper in her ear sweet, lovely things, to kiss her, to drag her down onto the grassy bedding beneath their feet and fulfil her greatest romantic fantasy by making love to her beneath a beautiful moonshine.

But hoping was hopeless, she reminded herself. So she stood straighter, determined to get this over and done with.

She began, "Malfoy, I wanted—"

"Happy birthday, Granger."

Her eyebrows lifted high, her mouth agape in surprise: "_What_?"

"I said, 'happy birthday,'" he repeated. "It _is_ your birthday, isn't it?"

"Err…yes. Yes it is," she nodded. "It surprises me that you know that."

"I know a lot of things about you, Granger."

"Oh?" She folded her arms beneath her breasts.

He stepped closer. "Sadly, you know very little about me."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

"Yes, that's right." He stepped closer still, his body mere centimetres from hers.

"Well, I beg to differ," she replied quietly, gazing up at him. "Because I know a lot of things about you, too."

He gazed down at her for a very long time, and she held his stare, feeling like something very important was going to happen in that moment. She wanted to unfold her arms and place them on his strong shoulders; she wanted to lean her body against his and feel his arms wrap around her as well; she wanted _him_. But then he took a step back, and she exhaled, not knowing she'd been holding her breath.

He reached into his trouser pocket and produced a palm-sized black box. He held it out to her.

"Here."

She took it, a pleasant tingle in her fingers at where her fingertips grazed his palm.

"What is it?"

"Open it, Granger," he said, speaking as though he'd wanted to add 'you dummy' but had barely restrained himself.

Sparing him a quick scowl, she lifted the lid of the small box. Inside was a lovely furry purple aster, its centre a pale yellow. In the gloom, its petals seemed to give off a faint, iridescent, lavender glow, and its sweet, intoxicating scent—this was what heaven probably smelt like—enticed her nose to just keep inhaling it. Each inhalation of the aster's perfume seemed to calm her, seemed to make her unexplainably joyous and hopeful and filled her with love. A _desire_ to love and to _be_ loved.

_Draco._

Draco Malfoy had given her a flower.

"Happy birthday."

_Thank you._

_Thank you._

_I love you._

_Thank you._

She opened her eyes, unaware that she'd closed them.

But he was already gone.

* * *

**AN:** I hope the last bit at the end wasn't too sudden. Please let me know if it sounds believable. Also, I can hear the many disappointed sighs because there weren't any citrus elements…or even a kiss. But that's ok. Patience is a virtue, my dears. Soon. Very soon. -:grins:-

**NB:** Picture of the aster flower can be seen by clicking on the link in my profile. If ya want.

And wow at the lovely folks who truly came out in the numbers to review the previous chapter! Thank you, thank you, thank YOU! :D I haven't responded to everyone, but I'll get on with it...or at least try... :O

Also, **Hopefully Helpful Advice**, because I was unable to PM you, I will have to address your review here:

Thank you for taking the time to read the story, and to review constructively. I'm sorry you feel my story has become formulaic, although I must agree with you that it HAS—to an extent. But I feel that there was no way I could have avoided it. Because remember, in the summary, it says 'she sets out to find _**ways**_ for [Draco] to notice her.' And I made her do just that. Granted, the consequences of her actions became predictable, but I'd hoped readers might focus more on and appreciate the hilarity in the extreme lengths she takes to win Draco's attention. I also admit to not fully plotting out each chapter as I usually do, but I have vague ideas of what I want to incorporate into this story. In any case, despite your disgruntlement, I do hope you stay with the story!

Whew! Eight in the morning. Work at three. And haven't yet had any sleep. Coffee, please!


	13. Treize Chapitre

Disclaimer: I've said it time and time again, and I don't know when I'll ever stop saying it once I'm writing in the HP fandom: I don't own Harry Potter. I just play with the characters. I'm not making any money writing about it either. Just reviews, and that odd pain in my littlest left finger…

**Treize Chapitre**

Floating on a cloud of bliss, Hermione returned to Lavender's room, clutching Draco's gift to her chest.

She was awestruck, her body simply mowing on autopilot. If It hadn't been for the aster's scent continuously wafting up to make her olfactory senses, dance in delight, she might have believed she'd imagined it all. But no, it was true. Draco had called her down to the lake, he'd wished her a happy birthday, and he'd presented her with such a beautiful gift.

She lifted the box's lid and looked at the aster again. It still exuded that luminescent glow, and Hermione realised that the flower had magical properties. She vaguely wondered what they were, and how Draco had come across the flower. Most importantly, because she knew flowers had meanings, what did a magical purple aster signify?

Neville, a Herbology enthusiast and apprentice to Pomona Sprout, answered her questions.

She hadn't meant for anyone to see the box, but the aster had betrayed its hiding place by its fragrance. Ginny and Lavender had both asked, "what's that smell?" in awed tones, and before long, all eyes had come to rest on her. Reluctantly, she'd brought out the box and showed them the aster. They oohed and ahhed (even the men) over the flower, but Neville had been the one to gasp out:

"Hermione, where did you get that?"

Hermione gave him a nervous look. "Umm…I found it."

"Impossible," he said immediately. "These magical purple asters—_aster novae angliae magica_—are extremely temperamental and hard to cultivate, especially at Hogwarts where the magical energy is so high." Here he smiled. "Somebody gave it to you."

Hermione blushed as everyone hummed in smiling appreciation.

"Clever bloke," teased Bill, grinning at her. "Look at her face. He's got her hooked, that one."

"Who's this young man?" queried her father in mild tones.

"He's nobody," replied Hermione swiftly, ducking her gaze. "It's just a flower. It doesn't mean anything."

"On the contrary, Hermione," piped up Neville again, sounding unusually confident, "it _does_ mean something. If my memory serves me correctly, a purple aster signifies patience, hope...and love."

"Really?" said Lavender and Ginny in unison, except that Lavender sounded excited and Ginny sounded unbelieving,

"Neville, that's preposterous!" exclaimed Hermione. "He doesn't…he doesn't love me."

"Who's this _he_, anyway?" enquired Ron in slightly annoyed tones.

"Mal—" began Ginny.

"—colm," interrupted Hermione hastily, glaring at a smirking Ginny. "His name is Malcolm. Anyway, enough of this! I shan't be discussing my love life any longer with the lot of you. Let's carry on with my party."

* * *

The next morning, Hermione arose with a mixture of excitement and dread churning in her stomach. She could still hear Neville's words in her head, filling her up with hope despite her stern admonitions to herself _not_ to. But she really couldn't help It. Draco remembering her birthday, and giving her a present—a flower with a romantic significance, to boot—defied all her rationalising.

Did Draco Malfoy love her? No, maybe that was a stretch. He probably fancied her, then? Maybe. It wasn't completely impossible, though common sense screeched that it was. Because when she seriously thought about it, Draco had been especially nasty towards her all this time. Not to mention that unanswered question as to why he'd been kissing Herman Ranger that night…

The notion that he was bisexual suddenly reasserted itself in her mind, dampening her rising hope. Then another thought, ten times worse than Draco's questionable sexual orientation, came to her straightaway: what if he was bisexual…and two-timing her?

Not that they were together. Yet. But really, what if that was his intention? 'To have his cake and eat it', so to speak? What if he wanted to maintain his relationship with Herman while starting up a new one with her? Or worse, what if, because he was aware of her feelings for him, he was using it to distract her from his dalliances with Herman? What if all this flower-giving business was just a ruse and truly meant nothing at all?

Would Draco do that? Was he capable of that kind of cruelty? Would he knowingly use her feelings for him as a stepping stone to further his own means?

When she thought about it, her theories of a manipulative Draco sounded a lot more plausible than a quietly besotted Draco. He didn't seem the type to be harbouring secret crushes like she'd been doing all along. Instead, he struck her as the type of man that if he wanted someone, he would go to any lengths to have them.

And maybe that was what he was doing? But not for her, but for Herman? Those kisses had just been the foundation work to steer her mind away. The gifting of the purple aster another manoeuvre that will bide him some time before he could think of something else.

She eyed the little black box that held the aster with disappointment. She could still smell its alluring fragrance, floating towards her, trying to rescue the sinking ship that was her hope, but she turned away. Despite her uncharacteristic behaviour thus far, and all of the foolish things she'd done, all to get his attention, she still had a smidgen of her pride left.

_I'm done chasing after you, Malfoy._

Yes. Draco Malfoy might have given her a flower that told her to have hope and patience, but she'd had that in spades, and nothing had come of it. Even now, more questions and doubts prevailed within her. Was this all a scheme or was Draco serious? Possibly, she could ascertain the truth by asking him—but she wasn't going to do that. Not anymore.

If he truly wanted her, then maybe it was time he did some chasing himself.

* * *

For the remainder of the week, Hermione gave Draco a dose of his own medicine. She ignored him, avoided him, and on the rare occasion he spoke to her, she replied in brusque or detached tones. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, relishing in his frustration as she'd gone through much of the same herself.

Though, a voice in her head called her all kinds of stupid. It pointed out that she'd finally achieved her goal at getting Draco's attention, but that she was mucking it all up by being a prime _bitch_. And even though she argued with 'the voice' that she had a just cause for her behaviour, the voice told her—and quite nastily, too—that if she kept this up, then it wouldn't be surprising when Draco decided he didn't give a rat's arse about her anymore.

Lavender, noticing Hermione's new attitude towards Draco, had a similar opinion as 'the voice'.

"Hermione, you've got to stop this or you'll lose him!"

Hermione pursed her lips stubbornly. "And lose my pride instead?"

Lavender scoffed. "You gave that up years ago."

Hermione glared at her, but continued: "I'm not going to fall into Malfoy's waiting hands just because he gave me a flower, Lavender. I need to know. I need to believe that he truly feels something for me."

"Then why don't you just go and ask him?" suggested Lavender in irritable tones. "Hermione, after all you've done, you finally have him where you want him to be, and you're just throwing it all away. You're cutting off your face to spite your nose. It's madness!"

Hermione shifted in the chair uncomfortably, vaguely aware of Lavender's mixed up analogy. "Lavender, you don't understand. I've been chasing Malfoy. I've been _lowering_ myself for him, so why can't he do the same for me? Is it so bad to be a little spiteful? I-I just really need to know that this is what he wants. That it's _me_ he wants. My pride won't have it any other way."

"'Pride comes before a fall,'" quoted Lavender sagely.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, 'look before you leap'. And that's exactly what I'm doing."

* * *

The following Tuesday evening, Hermione was sitting in her classroom, marking sixth-year Slytherin-Hufflepuff essays, although her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking about Draco and about what Lavender had said. Half of her was nervous at the idea of Lavender's words coming true, but the other half—the stubborn half—was adamant that she was making the right decision.

She was absentmindedly reading a particularly awful argument on why _Molba the Mumbler_ should have been the head negotiator in the Goblin Rebellion—despite Molba's inability to properly articulate himself—when Hermione heard a knock at the door. She looked up, very surprised to find Herman standing in the doorway.

He smiled, looking, for once, like the young, sweet boy she'd first met. "Hello, Professor. Am I interrupting?"

_Yes, you are, now get out immediately, you slimy little sod!_

But she couldn't say that. She was a professor, and despite her lack of backbone and professionalism in their previous conversation, she'd make up for it today.

"You can come in, Herman," she said calmly.

He entered the classroom and walked towards her, his strides languid, yet careful, like the walk of a feline that has spot a bird from afar and has evil intentions to sneak up on it and tear it to pieces. The following image of Herman gnawing away at her unsettled her greatly, so she cast that picture aside. She would not allow a mere student to frighten her, or worse, disrespect her anymore.

He stood right in front of her desk, adopting a solemn look.

"Professor, I've come…I've come to apologise for my horrid behaviour."

She nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Ranger."

"I'm sorry. I said some awful things that I wish I could take back, and that night you found me and Professor Malfoy…I'm sorry for that too. I swear to you that you won't encounter such a situation again, professor."

Leaning back in her chair, she eyed him hard for any signs of dishonesty. There was none to be found. Either he was a fantastic liar, or he was telling the truth.

"I appreciate you coming forth to apologise, Mr. Ranger. That was very mature of you. But, let it be known that should such a similar occurrence present itself, you will be punished accordingly."

He nodded, sombre gaze still intact. "I understand, professor. I'll endeavour to remain in your good graces from now on." He smiled. "And to start afresh, I've brought you a gift."

From his pocket, he produced a small vial that contained an azure-coloured liquid. He held it out to her.

"I heard it was your birthday recently, professor, so I made this Worry-Free potion for you. It doubles as an apology and birthday gift."

She took the vial cautiously, looking at it with great scepticism. "A Worry-Free potion?"

Herman nodded and smiled, his brown eyes twinkling with delight. "Yes, it's a variant of the Felix Felicis. However, Worry-Free, as its name indicates, leaves you free of worry, feeling calm and secure."

"Is that so?" replied Hermione, intrigued despite herself.

"Oh, yes, it is," nodded Herman, looking proud. "Professor Snape had us brew it in class yesterday. Mine received top marks."

"And how am I to use it?" she enquired, swirling the liquid in the vial and watching curiously as it took on a silvery hue. "Should I drink it?"

"Well, you can, but to experience the full potential of Worry-Free, it's best if you add it to your bath water instead. The scent of it in warm water is glorious."

Still cautious, but nonetheless pleased, Hermione smiled at Herman and thanked him for the gift.

He dipped his head once, a sweet smile on his face.

"No, professor, thank _you_."

* * *

Later that evening, after toiling through all of the sixth year Slytherin-Hufflepuff and fourth year Ravenclaw-Gryffindor essays, Hermione returned to her room feeling weary, and with a slight headache knocking at her temples. She also felt incredibly edgy as she hadn't seen Draco all day, and her thoughts had been filled with him, and doubts about herself.

Deciding that a nice warm bath followed by some soothing chamomile tea with the ginger biscuits Lavender had given her was in order, Hermione went into her bedroom and began to strip. It wasn't until she heard the muted thump of something solid hitting the floor amongst her robes did she remember the vial of Worry-Free potion that Herman had given her.

_How fitting,_ she thought, eager to alleviate her bad mood.

Rooting the vial out from her discarded clothing, she went into her bathroom and proceeded to draw herself a bath. When the water had reached a sufficient level, a light mist floating above the surface, Hermione uncorked the bottle, and was about to tip the contents into the water when she stopped herself. How much was she supposed to use?

Herman had never stated the required amount to ensure the potion 'achieved its full potential'. Should it be a few drops? The entire bottle? Half of the bottle? If it was a variant of the Felix Felicis, then certainly it would maintain the same dosage? She remembered Harry's vial of Felix Felicis, and how a quick sip had been quite enough. But would the amount that constituted a 'quick sip' be sufficient for a full tub of water? No, maybe she should pour a bit more…

Hand aloft, she was about to pour the potion again, when something stopped her yet again. Should she trust this potion? Should she trust _Herman_? After the way he'd behaved, after his implied threat on her life, was it wise to utilise a potion he'd brewed especially for her? What if he'd tampered with it? Added a lethal concoction that might incapacitate her in some way?

She frowned at the harmless-looking liquid, its blueness inviting her to just forget about caution, to forget about worrying for once in her life. The more she looked at it, the more convinced she felt that nothing was wrong with the potion. After all, Herman _had_ apologised. He'd readily accepted that his behaviour towards her had been terrible, and to cap it all off, he'd kindly given her a gift.

Maybe he wasn't that bad. Maybe he was just an overly dramatic young man caught up in an unhealthy obsession, and had lashed out when he'd felt threatened. She couldn't blame him, because, truth be told, when she'd discovered him coveting Draco, she'd immediately thought of doing the same thing. She had considered ruining his reputation at one point, after all.

_There's nothing wrong with the potion,_ she told herself in adamant tones. Still, it didn't hurt to at least cast an elementary diagnostic spell on it…

Two minutes later, after the potion's diagnosis had come back negative on any inclusion of harmful ingredients, Hermione gave a satisfactory nod, then promptly poured nearly half of the vial's liquid into her bath water.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, after her umpteenth idyllic sigh, Hermione heard someone pounding on the door to her room. On a regular day, she'd find the noise bothersome and the person extraordinarily impolite, but the soothing fragrance of the Worry-Free potion wrapped her up in a cocoon of seemingly interminable happiness.

Rising from the tepid water, she stepped out onto her mat and reached for her bathrobe that hung on the back of the bathroom door. Wrapping the soft material around her body, she sighed once more, feeling light and unburdened by troubles. Unaware that she hadn't secured the ties of her bathrobe tightly enough, Hermione glided out to greet the person who was still pounding on her door.

"Draco!" she said in surprise, upon opening her door and finding Draco Malfoy standing on the other end looking very angry.

He opened his mouth, obviously ready to harangue her when he caught sight of her state of dress. He gave her a slow, appreciative once-over, making sure to eyeball the gaping section of her bathrobe that was revealing her sternum, and the sides of her breasts, before he met her gaze once more, anger abated.

"Granger," he said, stepping forwards and invading her personal space. Reflexively, she stepped backwards.

"W-why are you here?" she queried, the effects of the Worry-Free potion beginning to ebb. "What do you want?"

"No, I think it's my right to ask you that question, Granger, because I'm confused. What do _you_ want?"

She averted her gaze. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know full well what I mean. As much as I question your intelligence regularly, I know you're not dumb, Granger."

She scowled at him, anger rising like a tide within her. "No, I'm not, Malfoy, and I'm very glad you're aware of that! Do you think I wouldn't realise what you've been trying to do all along?"

"And what have I been trying to do all along, hmm?"

Furious now. "I saw you with Herman, remember? I saw you! And, what? You supposed giving me a bloody flower would make me forget? That I'll still come running to you like an _idiot_? You're taking advantage! Taking advantage of me because I fancy you and I—"

She slapped her palm over her mouth, horror, coursing through her veins. She took a step back, watching as his scowl receded with such rapidity, it was like if he'd suddenly switched faces.

He walked her backwards until her back was pressed up against the wall in her tiny foyer. Vaguely, she remembered being in a similar situation with him months ago when he'd discovered the Amortentia-laced cake. She began edging off to the side when he blocked her escape by placing his hand on the wall next to her head.

Out of nowhere, she thought of all those romance novels she'd read where the male protagonist would do just the same thing. A plot device, no doubt, by the author to incorporate a snog or a quick feel-up, because she'd always wondered why those brainless females never thought to just duck under the man's arm and get away!

So, she did just that. But before she could ease away, Draco managed to grab her upper-arms and brought her back to lean against the wall again. Then he dropped his hands to her hips and tilted his face close to hers.

Speaking in low, husky tones, he said: "I take it back. Granger, you _are_ dumb. Incredibly stupid. Woefully obtuse. Not to mention _blind_."

She gritted her teeth, the urge to slap him great, but for some reason, she didn't have the strength to raise her hand to do so.

He continued: "Granger, I am _not_ gay, nor am I inclined towards children, especially the ones I'm teaching."

Relieved to hear that, yet wanting to ask him about the kiss with Herman, she opened her mouth, but words failed to come. Her tongue suddenly felt fat and heavy in her mouth, and her thought processes had become sluggish. As a matter of fact, her entire body felt out-of-sorts…

"…thought you'd realise by now that I—"

"Draco…" she whispered, struggling to speak.

Her vision had taken on a blurry quality. She could hardly make out any of his features. All she could see were blobs of colour now.

"Granger?" Her hearing had deteriorated too. His voice sounded as though he was talking through thick wads of cotton. "What's wrong?"

Then the pain hit her. An incredible, blinding ache that sliced through her stomach like a newly sharpened blade. She slumped forwards, her mouth dribbling blood as she cried out. The stomach pain hit her again with such intensity that her feet buckled, and if it hadn't been for Draco holding her up, she would have fallen to the floor.

Her body was shivering now, and she felt so faint that consciousness was slipping away from her. As though from far, far away, she could hear Draco calling her name, and she felt a little pleased by his anxious tones. She was thinking, _he really sounds worried, maybe he does care for me,_ when the third wave of pain attacked her again, and dragged her off into a world of darkness.

* * *

**AN:** -:gapes at the angry mob holding pitchforks and torches:- Well, settle down folks! No need to get all huffy! What? Die, you evil little cliff-hanger-making bitch, you say? Impossible! How shall I update then, hmm? :D

Thanks muchly, my lovelies, for reading and reviewing! I'll admit, I felt sort of glum when I read some of you griping about Hermione being OOC, but I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and told myself that constructive criticism—albeit pepper-like to the eyes and katana-slicing to the heart—is good for the writing soul. In any case, hope you found this update favourable.

Also, I dedicate this chapter to **Duco Lacuna** for being an awesome motivator, and to **sushiking**, who gave me the idea of Hermione giving Draco a taste of his own medicine. Mwah to the both of you! XD :)

And, not to make this Author's Note longer than it already is, but just putting it out there that _Conversion_ is coming to a close soon. Possibly two or three more chapters to go…-:sad sigh:-


	14. Quatorze Chapitre

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

**Disclaimer #2:** Hermione is OOC. I purposely wrote her that way. Because if I don't say it here, I'll get another review bemoaning that fact. And there's only so much repetition even I, with my limitless patience, can take.

**Quatorze Chapitre**

Hermione dreamt.

Some of her dreams were good. In those dreams, she revisited episodes of her past: when she was nine and her father had bought her a signed hardcover copy of Rudyard Kipling's 'The Jungle Book', which must have cost him an arm and a leg. When she was fourteen and McGonagall had given her a perfect score for transfiguring a cotton ball into a tiny bird. When she was eighteen and Ron had given her her first kiss…

She even dreamt good dreams of the future. One where she was Headmistress of Hogwarts, the teachers and students adoring her. Or where she was the newly appointed Minister for Magic, implementing plans to better the lives of the poor and magical creatures. She especially enjoyed the dream where she was reading a book in an unfamiliar living room, when a blonde, curly-haired little boy came up to her and said grinningly, "Mum! Daddy just said a very bad word!" And she thought how much the little boy resembled Draco…

And some of her dreams were bad. Awful images of her screaming as she ran down an endless hill, a boulder thrice her size chasing after her. Of Voldemort winning the War, and Harry and most of her friends being dead whilst she was tortured in indescribable ways. Of laying naked and immobile in the Forbidden Forest as slugs attempted to enter every orifice of her body…

And she dreamt of Herman. Those dreams were the worst. Because Herman never looked like Herman. In her dreams, he took on a grotesque incorporeal form, a malevolent intangible entity that taunted her, and laughed at her and hurt her immensely despite being as tangible as mist. And no matter how fast she ran or how far, he always seemed to find her, to haunt her, to drive her further and further into insanity…

* * *

Late Thursday evening, two full days since she'd fallen unconscious in her foyer, Hermione Granger awakened.

She'd been having yet another awful dream in which Evil Herman existed, when she'd suddenly become conscious with a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes wide open, she raised her head off of her pillows to cast nervous glances about her surroundings, feeling completely disorientated.

_Where am I?_

_Who am I?_

Thankfully, the latter question was answered immediately from memory. She was Hermione Jean Granger, good friend of the infamous Harry Potter, best friend of Lavender Brown. Her parents were both dentists. She was a professor at Hogwarts, a boarding school for magical children. She was insanely besotted with her childhood enemy, Draco Malfoy…

And just like that, remembrance returned.

Herman had given her a potion.

She'd used it.

Draco had been telling her he wasn't gay.

Everything went black.

_Everything went black!_

The potion.

_Herman._

She glanced around her whereabouts again, and in the gloom she could distinguish the familiar curtains, and blue-green walls, and the tiled floors. After all, being Harry Potter's friend, she'd seen this place far too often to not know that she was currently in Hogwarts' hospital wing.

And why was she in the hospital wing?

Because of Herman. That little shi—ahem—that terrible boy!

He had poisoned her! He'd put some evil substance in that potion, and like the perfect ninny that she was, she'd actually _used_ it. Merlin, was there no end to her stupidity? How could she have been so gullible to have swallowed Herman's hogwash about being sorry? Where had her bullshit detector and brain waltz off to? _Space_?

"Feeling better, dear?" came a voice from her right, and Hermione turned her head in that direction to find Madam Pomfrey looking at her concernedly.

"I suppose," she croaked out. "But a glass of water would be nice."

Filling the nearby glass with water from the pitcher, Madam Pomfrey helped Hermione to sit up before handing the glass over to her. Just as she'd finished drinking, Professor McGonagall stepped into the small, enclosed area from behind the curtain.

"Hello, Miss Granger," the older woman greeted. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione swallowed hard. How long had she been unconscious for? Did anybody know the cause of her poisoning? Did they know it was because of Herman? Should she protect the boy? She didn't want to anymore because he'd made an attack on her life. But if she said Herman did it, the next question would be why, and to answer that why would mean implicating Draco, and to implicate Draco meant—

"Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall prompted.

"Err…I'm fine. Good. Though, I've been better."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "You were poisoned."

"I was, wasn't I?" she agreed. "I should've never eaten those shrimps—"

"No, this wasn't food poisoning, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey interrupted. "It was spell poisoning, I'm afraid."

"H-how do you know that?"

"Well, truth be told, I had thought it was food poisoning myself, but it was Mr. Malfoy who said otherwise. After he'd left you in my care, he returned to your room and managed to collect the remains of the potion you had used in your bath. He tested it and found the potion had been imbued with dark magic."

"Apparently," added Professor McGonagall, "it was given to you under the guise of a Worry-Free potion. My dear, you really must be careful of the apothecaries you visit. Remember your status as a War Heroine."

Hermione opened her mouth to correct her, but snapped it back shut. She wanted so dearly to tell Professor McGonagall who the true culprit was, but she knew she had to speak to Draco first.

"Indeed," agreed Madam Pomfrey. "And you really must thank Mr. Malfoy. If he hadn't brought you in on time…"

The unspoken words and the grim look on both the older women's faces made Hermione uneasy.

Smiling nervously, Hermione replied: "Well, that's good then. I'll make sure to extend my thanks."

"I daresay you'll have trouble doing so, Miss Granger," commented Professor McGonagall.

"Why?"

"Because, just this afternoon, Mr. Malfoy came into my office and resigned."

* * *

As soon as Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had turned their backs on her, Hermione Granger grabbed her wand from the bedside table and scrambled out of bed. Transfiguring the hospital gown she wore into a plain, makeshift dress, she peered around the curtains to ensure the women's attention was engrossed elsewhere before scurrying off to Draco's rooms.

Draco had resigned.

Why would he do such a thing? What purpose did his resigning fulfill? Could it be that he knew it was Herman who'd poisoned her? From what she'd seen thus far, he knew how Herman felt about him. Obviously, he'd put two and two together, and had realised that Herman had tried to 'eliminate the competition'. Still, that did not justify his quitting!

He was so foolish! How could he not see that the simplest path was to have confessed all to Professor McGonagall? He'd said he wasn't gay, if so, then surely that instance she'd encountered him and Herman had an explanation? He could have simply let McGonagall know of Herman's deranged personality—using the Worry-Free potion and her poisoning as proof. Then, when she was awake, all she'd have to do was corroborate his story, and that was the end of Herman Ranger.

But by quitting, he was making himself look guilty. As though he'd done something wrong, and was making penance by sacrificing himself. He didn't do anything wrong. He'd just been unlucky enough to be the focus of attention of an absurdly jealous and mentally unstable adolescent.

_What if he did do something wrong?_

The tiny voice gave slowed her hurried footsteps.

What if he was guilty? What if he was making penance? Even though he'd said he wasn't gay, even though he'd said he hadn't any romantic interest for students, he hadn't explicitly stated he hadn't any interest for _Herman_. And there was still the question of that kiss. There was always the question of that stupid, horrid kiss!

The wheels in her brain began to rotate even faster. She considered the idea of Draco being the co-conspirator of Herman to poison her. Because, how had he known to test the vial of Worry-Free potion? And, after learning the truth, why hadn't he gone straight to Professor McGonagall and told her about his suppositions as to who the culprit might be? Was it to protect Herman?

Maybe going to Draco first was a bad idea. Maybe what she should really do—what she should've done in the first place—was to head straight back to Professor McGonagall and tell her everything.

"Granger?"

Startled, she looked around. Without realising it, her feet had managed to carry her to her original destination. She'd just been about to pass Draco's door when he'd flung it open, a cardboard box of books in his arms.

He settled the box down and came towards her.

"Granger, what are you doing here?" he demanded, looking down the hallway, before turning a worried gaze on her. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"Wouldn't you know," she replied bitterly, "since you're the one that put me there!"

He frowned. "What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not stupid, Malfoy, as you'd like to believe. I know you helped Herman poison me!"

Draco's face contorted into an angry scowl. "If I poisoned you, why would I have wasted my time to pick you up and carry you all the way to the hospital wing, Granger?"

"Because it's all an act!" she cried. "'Who would think you've a part to play in my demise when you're the one that rescued me', is that right? No, you didn't truly want to rescue me. It was all a show just to protect Herman!"

His voice took on a deadly tone. "And why would I want to protect Herman?"

"Because…because you love him!" she exploded, her breathing fast and heavy now. "You love that awful boy! I saw that kiss! And even though you say you're not—"

She wasn't able to finish, how could she when Draco had taken that moment to force her up against the nearby wall and kiss her into silence?

She put up a fight immediately, but her body was weak from convalescing from the poisoning, and Draco was much stronger. She tried twisting her face away, but Draco grabbed her lower jaws and held her head in place.

He was angry. Very, very much so. She knew this by the way he was squeezing her wrist, and the way he forced his tongue through her lips. She attempted to bite him, but he pulled away, then resumed kissing her again. She tried pushing him away with her free hand, but he captured that too, and brought both of her hands above her head, holding them by the wrists with just one of his own hands.

But Hermione Granger was a fighter, and fight she did. She wriggled her body frenziedly like a snake with its tail recently cut off, before aiming a half-hearted kick with her knee at his groin. Quidditch reflexes still strong, he pulled away in time and glared at her, looking even angrier than she thought he possibly could.

"Granger, did you just try to kick me?"

"Yes," she hissed. "And I'll do it again too, you rapist!"

A glint sparkled in his eyes. "Rapist? Is that so? Yet another addition to the long list of misconceptions about me. Maybe it's time to live up to one of your awful expectations of me."

She looked at him, horrified. "You wouldn't."

He gave her a long, angry stare before pulling away from her.

Released, she rubbed her sore wrists, then touched her pleasantly tingling lips. In the back of her mind, she grieved the missed opportunity to have enjoyed Draco kissing her, but she had been so angry! Still was, actually.

"You love him, don't you?" she said in bitter and accusatory tones. When he didn't respond, she continued. "If you don't then why didn't you tell McGonagall he's the one who poisoned me? Why are you quitting? It's obvious you're protecting him."

He laughed then, a harsh, humourless sound that was as dry as beach sand on a particularly hot day.

"Then I suppose it'll come as an immense shock to you when I say that I resigned to protect _you_."

And it did. Her eyes widened in disbelief, before returning to their normal size in cynicism.

"And why is that?"

He looked at her and shook his head.

"Because, despite your infuriating blindness, your ability to drive me up the wall at the drop of a hat, your perpetual idiocy, your annoying tendencies, your awe-inspiring naiveté, your unrelenting and misguided beliefs about me, and that wild mass you call hair, I love you, Granger." His steady gaze met her astonished one.

"That's right. Believe it or not, I love you."

And he turned around, entered his room and closed the door.

* * *

AN: Not my longest chapter. Going to get started on the next one. The Big Reveal did not make it into this chapter, but hopefully it would in the next. And HOPEFULLY the next one gets posted tomorrow...

Thank you all to the wonderful people that read and reviewed. Your encouraging words are like sunshine on a cloudy day. :)

Tell me what you think!


	15. Quinze Chapitre

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.

AN: This is a long chapter. And, as wont of a long chapter, twice times the troublesome typos, the petulant punctuation, the grumpy grammar, and the saucy spelling errors. Cover your eyes!

**Quinze Chapitre**

Hermione stood in the hallway in open-mouthed disbelief. She swore her ears had suddenly stopped working because surely she hadn't heard Malfoy—_Draco Malfoy_—confess to _loving_ her.

Was he serious?

He'd sounded serious enough, and if he was, then what the bloody hell was she doing out in that hallway? The man she fancied had just told her that he fancied her as well, and like a numpty, she was standing outside his door gaping like an ugly, dead fish. Not to mention that in a few hours—possibly less—he was going to leave, probably never to be seen again…

Snapping back to reality, Hermione immediately began pounding on Draco's door. But after the fourth rapping of her fists on the door, she was winded. She thought to herself that maybe leaving the hospital wing had been a bad idea. However, not one to give up easily, she reached for the door handle, was surprised that he'd left the door unlocked, and admitted herself into his room.

"Mal…foy, you…you…git!" she wheezed. "Where the…where the bloody…_where are you_?"

She wobbled her way across the foyer and into the living room that was not unlike her own, and briefly took note of the sparse furnishings. There was a suitcase lying open near the coffee table, half filled with clothing, but for some reason, Hermione was seeing two suitcases, both identical in every way, even the same contents. As a matter of fact, the entire room seemed to have a less defined twin…

She was thinking, how absurd, when she heard his voice. She turned in the direction of the sound…and saw two Draco Malfoys as well!

"Mal…Malfoy, you have…you have a twin!" was the last thing she said before her consciousness gave out on her yet again.

* * *

Something pleasantly cool was touching her forehead. It smoothed across her temples, down along her jaws, over her upper lip, her chin, and then steadily dabbed against her neck. It felt so good. A wonderful relief to her heated skin. Sighing as she rose from the midst of unconsciousness, Hermione eyes fluttered open to meet the gaze of Draco Malfoy.

"Hey," he said.

Softly, she replied, "Hey."

The room was partially engulfed in gloom, the only light source a candle perched on a bedside table. It was then she realised she was lying on a bed, most likely Draco's as the room was entirely unfamiliar. She wondered why she was lying on Draco's bed and not on one in the hospital wing. So she asked him.

"Pomfrey didn't think it was necessary to carry you all the way back to the hospital wing."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. Madam Pomfrey? The bossy, motherly woman who thought all things could be cured in her ward? The woman who hauled students back to her wing to make sure they absolutely were well even if they'd just burnt a finger by touching a hot cauldron in Potions? No, it couldn't be.

"Really?" she said.

He smirked, mirth dancing in his eyes, and Hermione couldn't help but hold her breath and stare. He looked so much like the Draco she'd fallen so hard for. She couldn't tell last she'd seen such an amicable expression on his face. And with the golden glow of the light defining his features, and the few strands of hair falling in his face like that, Hermione was well underway to melting into a puddle of delighted goo.

"Actually, it was McGonagall who suggested you stay. 'I'm sure Mr. Malfoy here can take care of Miss Granger, Poppy,'"

Hermione closed her eyes and groaned. "That woman…"

"She's far too obvious in her matchmaking schemes, isn't she?"

Her eyes flew open. "You knew?"

He shook his head, still smirking. "Come on, Granger, I'm not a dunce. If McGonagall could've, she would've flung the both of us in a love hotel, locked the door, and thrown away the key."

She blushed, covering her face with her hands in embarrassment. "Merlin, she was so obvious!"

He pulled her hands away from her face and leant in close, smirk still intact. "And you weren't?"

Her face grew redder and she dropped her gaze from his.

"So maybe I wasn't entirely subtle…"

"Granger, I caught you snogging Snape. No doubt a complete muck-up of your plot with Brown, as obviously you'd meant to have your legs all wrapped up around me instead. You weren't subtle, you were desperate."

All of the little butterflies fluttering around in her stomach at Draco's nearness shrivelled up and died. Incensed, she scowled up at him.

"Only because you left me no choice! Draco, do you realise how awful you've treated me over the course of the year?"

He sat up straight, his smirk gone. "I do. But it was all for a good cause."

"A good cause?" she repeated in incredulous tones. "What good can come of stripping away someone's self-esteem? Of making someone feel utterly reviled? Of pushing me away? And yet, you said that you lo—" She couldn't say it. Not yet. The knowledge was still too fresh to even voice it.

He shoved his hand through his hair angrily, looking away from her to stare unseeingly at the candlelight that flickered merrily on its wick. It was then that she noticed the washcloth in his hand, and the small basin of water perched on the opposite end of the bedside table.

"Look, I didn't mean to hurt you. Not really. But it was a necessity. I had to push you away to protect you."

She sat up, frustrated with his vagueness now.

"Protect me from what? Herman?"

"Yes."

She snorted. "Fat luck there, then. He's already tried to kill me—"

"And he'll try again, Granger. He'll not stop until he has me to himself."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she enquired, staring hard at Draco.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he launched himself to his feet, folded his arms across his chest and began pacing around the room. It was oxymoronic to include Draco Malfoy and 'nervous' in the same sentence, but that was just how he looked as she followed his movements with her eyes. When she'd grown tired of her curiosity being unsatisfied, she prompted him by calling his name.

Finally, he stopped pacing, and turned to look at her. "Herman is blackmailing me."

Shock fizzed up her spine, forcing her body to sit rigidly straight. She was tired of the emotion. After suffering it through learning of Draco's resignation and of hearing him saying he loved her, this third instance was just overkill. Could a person die of shock? Sure, somebody could be _frightened_ to death, but could too much startling news in a day send someone to kick the bucket? Maybe...

But that didn't matter. What mattered was Draco announcing he was being blackmailed. And by that odious Herman, too!

"How?"

"Do you remember that picture of me in the Daily Prophet kissing a bloke behind the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked, his tone flat.

Oh yes, how could she forget that picture? It had been seared to her brain like a branding-iron to a cow's backside. The jealousy and the longing she'd felt, not being that unidentified man to receive Draco's fervent kisses…

She blinked, met Draco's gaze again and nodded.

"Well, it wasn't me. It was Herman Polyjuiced as me."

"But why would he do that?" she gasped.

"To begin the rumours that I was gay to further his main goal," he answered. "At the time, I hadn't known it was him. Not until the day he brought me a vial of Felix Felicis, and I'd drank it, fainted, and woke up to find myself…"

He swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed. He sifted his fingers wildly threw his hair again and muttered an expletive, obviously finding it hard to continue. Sliding out of the bed, she stood waiting, unsure whether she should try comforting him or not.

Eventually, with a determined look on his face, he cleared his throat and continued in a tone that was so devoid of emotion, it was eerie.

"I woke up and found myself naked, strapped to a bed by ropes, Herman between my legs, naked as well as he…" he faltered here, but kept at it "…as he sucked me off, all the while a camera was snapping away behind him. When he'd got sufficient shots, he told me that if I didn't want every Wizarding newspaper receiving those photographs, as well as the headmistress, I'd keep my mouth shut and do as he wanted. Then, you began showing your interest in me, and despite my best efforts to prove otherwise, he realised that I was interested in you as well."

A long, long quiet followed where Hermione stood, riveted by Draco's revelation. She was at a complete loss as to what to say, because her mind was still stuck on the bit where Herman had basically…raped Draco—to an extent. She dearly wanted to ask whether Herman had 'done more' but feared the answer to that question. She didn't think she could bear to hear it.

"So that time I caught you kissing…" she trailed off.

"We weren't kissing. He made an attempt at the same moment you entered, and from your angle, it looked fairly incriminating, I suppose."

"And…and that first day of the Sparring Lessons? You both looked like you were…" once again she couldn't finish her sentence.

"He'd ambushed me," he answered shortly. "Granger, if you don't believe me, I understand—"

"I do," she replied immediately. And she did. "I do believe you."

Blackmail. Herman was blackmailing him. He'd compromised Draco, taken lewd photos of him, and was using that as leverage to manipulate him. No wonder. _No wonder_ Draco had been so nasty towards her. Yet, like a fool, she'd been causing Draco more grief with her actions. She'd practically walked around with a sign emblazoned on her forehead for the insane Herman that said: Shoot Here.

And he'd taken quite the shot.

No wonder Draco had resigned. If it was her, she'd have resigned too. As a matter of fact, maybe that's exactly what she should be doing…

_But Herman would go unpunished._

Indeed. Regardless of how wicked Herman had proven himself to be, he was still a student and they were the professors. They'd faced a force a hundred times worse than Herman (and for seven years too), and had lived to tell the tale. So what was a mere sixteen-year old boy? They would not be cowed. They would not be made to feel intimidated when they were the ones with the true power here.

"Let's notify Professor McGonagall about this immediately," she said in steely tones.

"Absolutely not," he scoffed. "I've already handed in my resignation. I'm going to leave this place with whatever remnants of dignity I have left."

"But you were wronged, Draco," she replied.

"As is the standard course of my life, Granger. But I'm not you, War Heroine, best friend of bloody Harry Potter who vanquished the big, bad Voldemort. I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's right hand man. The boy who'd been given the task to murder _Dumbledore_ and had been too gutless to do it too. McGonagall, much as she acts it, will not believe my accusations…especially of one of her best pupils. Rings a bell, Granger?"

"How about you have a little more faith in mankind?" she huffed, ignoring his jibe at Professor McGonagall's tendency towards blatant favouritism.

"How about you lose those rose-coloured glasses?" he retorted, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

She stepped closer to him. "What if _I_ told her? She'll believe me."

"Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. But I'd rather have concrete evidence than just your word alone."

"Well, you can show her your memories in a Pensieve."

"Don't you think I haven't already considered that idea? Unfortunately, whatever was in the Felix Felicis prevents me from extracting the memory."

Never one to give up, she persisted. "Well…what about Snape? Isn't he your godfather? Why haven't you told him about this? I'm sure he can help you."

He grew contemplative for a moment before smirking at her.

"Now why didn't I think of that? That old tosser is good at _Legilimency_…"

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and gave him a smug look.

"And you said I was stupid."

* * *

After coming to the realisation that Severus Snape could help clear Draco's name, and find evidence of Herman's horrible behaviour, they both left Draco's room with an intent to settle the Herman situation once and for all.

They were heading down the dark hallway that would lead to the dungeons where Snape resided, when a jet of light momentarily lit up the area in a ghoulish green before striking Draco square in the back. Hermione cried out as his body went flying against the nearby wall in a sickening thud, and watched in horror as he slid lifelessly to the floor.

She turned to identify their assailant, and was not surprised to find Herman standing behind her, his wand lifted threateningly, a twisted smile on his face.

"Hello, professor."

She immediately reached for her wand where she usually held it in her left sleeve, and was dismayed to feel her bare arm instead. Belatedly, she remembered she was still wearing the transfigured hospital gown, and that her wand was still amongst her belongings in the hospital wing.

She was quickly sorting through her limited arsenal of dandles magic, when Herman pointed his wand at her, the sick little smile on his face.

"I should kill you now. You're in the right place for a good _Avada Kedavra_."

"Just like you did with Draco?" she said, voice trembling.

"Come now, professor," he said in falsely affectionate tones, "why would I kill Draco? He's my first and only love. He's merely been knocked unconscious."

"Why are you doing this, Herman?" she asked bitterly. "Why don't you stop this?"

"And have you steal Draco away from me, you ugly cow?" He giggled. "Definitely not. I've worked far too long and far too hard to have Draco Malfoy notice me. Not unlike what you've been doing, professor."

"Yes, but I've never resorted to blackmailing him," she spat.

His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "So he's told you, hasn't he? Well, that doesn't matter. You'll be dead soon enough and, as you know, since you're the brightest-bitch-of-the-age and all that, dead people can't talk."

Hoping to stall for time in the event that someone might pass by, witness this unfolding scene and aid in some way, Hermione said quietly:

"Herman, please don't do this. You're still so young. You can move past this. Don't ruin your future with rash—"

"I have no intention of ruining my future, only yours. You're like an annoying infestation of cockroaches, you know that? No matter what I do to get rid of you, you still keep showing up unwanted. Why couldn't you have just satisfied yourself with Robert and leave Draco alone? Things would've been so much easier for the both of us."

Hermione's eyes widened. "How do you know about Robert?"

Herman sneered. "It's funny how a human's life is like a spider's web. Every single person a human being meets connects in some way. Take, for instance, me and you and Draco. Then we bring in your idiot friend who made you fill out a romance questionnaire that was created by my even more idiotic sister, Amalea Dewhurst."

"_What_?"

Herman giggled again. An oddly effeminate sound that went like: 'hehehehe!' as his shoulders shook with the effort. It annoyed her.

"Do you see? Do you see the lines of the web? Amalea—we call her 'Mallie' at home—married some rich fat slob named Yuri Dewhurst, took his money, and started a 'matchmaking service'. Of course, with a business, one needs a solicitor, and who should be Mallie's solicitor but…you guessed it…dear Mr. Robert Loughie?"

Anxious to keep him talking, thus wasting time so help can come along, Hermione persisted:

"That still does not explain how Robert and I met."

Herman rolled his eyes. "Obviously through Mallie's service, you twit. Robert was horny, you were lonely. What a fit, hey?"

"I could've chosen someone else."

He waved his wandpoint at her. "I made sure you didn't. I sorted your list of recommendations myself. And I know how easy you women are. Always want the solicitors and the doctors. Once you chose him, I merely had to place an _Imperius_ on him. All was going just fine until that night my dear Draco wanted to be a hero."

"But—" she began, but Herman interrupted her.

"Anyway, that's enough. Don't think I don't know you've been trying to keep me talking, hoping somebody would come by and help you. I've watched Muggle movies too, you know." He smiled and pointed the wand steadily at her chest. "Now, without further ado: _Imperio!_"

And even though she fought, even though she struggled with every ounce of her willpower to subvert Herman's hold on her, Herman's will was stronger, and she soon succumbed to the calm nothingness of dependent thoughts.

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy! Wake up! Mr. Malfoy!"

Professor McGonagall slapped Draco's cheeks heartily until he slowly blinked his eyes open.

"Granger…?"

"Mr. Malfoy, who did this to you?"

Draco sat up suddenly, wincing at the incredibly painful throbbing in his head. "Where's Granger?"

"I haven't seen her. What is the meaning of this, Mr. Malfoy? Why were you—"

"He's got her. That little sod has taken her!" He struggled to his feet, wincing again. "Professor, by any chance, do you have one of those maps that let you know where all the students are?"

Professor McGonagall pursed her mouth and eyed him suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think Granger's in serious trouble."

Draco began walking towards the end of the hallway, and Professor McGonagall hurried after him.

"But Miss Granger is no longer a student."

"But Herman Ranger still is."

* * *

Hermione walked ahead of Herman, a pleased little smile on her face. There was a particularly chilly bite to the autumn breeze, but Hermione didn't mind. She didn't worry about the dewy grass beneath her feet, or the idea of catching a cold. She calm and at peace with herself as she walked onwards.

It was so nice to not have to think. There was this pleasant emptiness filling her head. And though there was a miniscule part of her that was against the nothingness, she ignored it. She didn't care. She didn't have to care about anything else except what Herman told her to do.

They went down the final rise of mowed grass and began making their way towards the wide expanse of the lake. The moon was barely a sliver of ivory in the sky, thus the still lake looked foreboding in the darkness. But Hermione in her _Imperio-ed_ state didn't care about that either, because Herman had begun to speak, and she had attention only for Herman.

"Have you ever had a pet, professor?"

"Yes," she answered flatly.

"What kind of pet?"

"A cat."

"What was its name?"

"Crookshanks."

"Is it dead?"

"Yes."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yes."

"Well, don't you worry, professor, you'll be reunited with dear old Crookshanks in due time once you meet _my_ pets."

They skirted the middle of the lake and headed to the very far left end where nobody usually went. Standing still before the edge of the water, Herman made a short, one-note whistle. Nothing happened for a few moments, until suddenly, the section of water in front of them bubbled slightly before eight, small, dark heads broke the water's surface.

He pointed at the ugly, horned creatures. "Tell me, professor, what are these?"

"Grindylows."

"Right you are." He giggled. "And do you know what grindylows like to eat?"

"Fish."

"Indeed. But not these ones. These particular grindylows are _special_. They like meat. _Human_ meat. Robert Loughie can attest to that fact." He giggled again. "Alas, as I said before, the dead can't—"

A red jet of light zoomed over Herman's head, singeing a bit of his hair before crashing mightily into the midst of the lake. The grindylows made little screeching sounds before diving beneath the water to take cover. Grabbing a hold of Hermione, Herman spun around and brought her in front of him as a shield, bringing his wandpoint to press into the side of her neck.

Eyes glittering with unbridled hate and anger, Herman glared at the arrival of Draco and Professor McGonagall.

"One more step and I'll curse her!" Herman cried, jabbing his wandpoint harder into Hermione's neck.

Draco and Professor McGonagall came to an abrupt halt.

"Drop your wands!" Herman demanded.

Professor McGonagall's face set into a heavy frown. "Mr. Ranger, I am surprised—"

"I said, drop your wands!"

"Does it matter whether or not we do? We're both adept at wandless magic, Herman. Now let her go." Draco sneered.

Herman sneered right back. "There's a group of human-eating grindylows right behind me. If you try anything funny, she goes into the lake."

Slowly, without him realising it, Hermione was steadily regaining her willpower as Herman's attention was consumed by Draco and Professor McGonagall. She was becoming more aware of her situation, the perpetual mist in her brain clearing. Then, with one final effort, Hermione broke Herman's mental bind on her, and also his physical one by hunching him hard with her elbow in his side.

He released his grip on her immediately, and she spun around to face him as he staggered backwards from the pain. Unfortunately, he'd been standing much too close to the lake's edge, thus, when he took one more step backwards, instead of finding solid ground to rest his foot, there was just air.

For a moment, Herman teetered on the edge, his hands circling wildly in an attempt to maintain his balance, and horrified at Herman's demise, Hermione tried to reach for him. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall had aimed an _Incarcerous_ at Herman to drag him forwards to prevent his fall, but because Hermione had stepped in the pathway, the conjured ropes attached themselves to Hermione and dragged her back instead.

With a piercing, blood-curdling scream, Herman fell backwards into the lake with a loud splash, and before Draco or Professor McGonagall could do anything to aid the poor boy, the cannibalistic grindylows immediately attached themselves to Herman and carried his thrashing body deep under water.

* * *

AN: I'd originally stopped at Herman's "Hello, professor", and had used the following bit for chapter sixteen, but I decided: enough with the cliff-hangers! Anyway, I'd like to believe this is the second-to-last chapter, but who knows, right? Well, hope the Big Reveal was satisfactory! Let me know if you spot plot holes (though I have faith the plot is sound).

Thanks for the lovely reviews everybody. They were appreciated as always!


	16. Seize Chapitre

**Seize Chapitre**

The next day, the entire school was informed by a red-eyed, tight-lipped Professor McGonagall about Herman Ranger's death, and of her very strict ruling that no-one was to venture anywhere near the lake lest they face immediate expulsion from Hogwarts.

Bereaved by their loved one's death and believing it was foul play, Herman's family launched an investigation through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and for the following two weeks, Aurors interrogated every single person that resided within Hogwarts.

It was then that Herman's true image came to light as various interviewees admitted to suffering, at some point, from Herman's treachery, manipulation and blackmailing. And because so many expressed silent glee that Herman was dead, the Aurors might have had a hard time deciding who'd truly killed Herman had it not been for Draco Malfoy, Professor McGonagall, and Hermione Granger's Pensieve memories proving that Herman's death had been entirely accidental.

In the end, the Wizengamot ruled that Herman had fallen to his own death. Part of Hermione felt guilty that Herman had died because of her. She regretted elbowing him in the side, thinking that had she patiently waited for Draco or Professor McGonagall to do something instead of wrestling him off herself, he might have still been alive today.

However, the next part of her felt a dark, vindictive satisfaction. An inner cruel voice whispered that Herman had received his just desserts, especially after the awful things he'd done to Draco and to the many others. And though there was a constant tug-of-war within herself, there was one thing that was certain: she was relieved.

* * *

"So, what are you going to do when he comes back?"

It was a Friday evening in mid-November, and winter had finally booted autumn out of the way. It was only just past six, yet the sun had long since deserted the sky as it changed from a depressing grey to an inky black. A steady flow of chilly breeze blew in through Hermione's opened living room windows, and rubbing her palms together for warmth, she went to close them.

After securing the latch and drawing the thick burgundy curtains together, Hermione turned to Lavender and gave her a nervous smile.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, 'you don't know?'" cried Lavender in incredulous tones, sparing Hermione a glance before retuning to the task of painting her toenails the Muggle way.

Hermione went and sat heavily on the sofa near Lavender, eyeing her friend's handiwork appreciatively before picking up one of the bottles of nail varnish and reading the label.

"Exactly what it means: I don't know," she replied as she uncapped the bottle that was labelled 'Funky Fuchsia', and began experimentally painting a fingernail.

"Well, you better think of something fast, because he's due back tomorrow."

The news of a student dying on Hogwarts' grounds had hit the papers in head-spinning rapidity, and like vultures on a corpse, reporters had gone on a hunt to extract some sordid back story to juicy-up their front pages. It didn't take them long, because within a few days, the Daily Prophet, after learning of Herman's obsession with Draco Malfoy, published an article that painted Herman's death as suicide borne from the woes of unrequited love.

And, although it might have made mildly interesting news had it been a regular, previously unheard of professor, the fact that it was _Draco Malfoy_ in question set the gossip mills ablaze.

In order to combat the unwanted attention and allegations, Draco had decided to take a two week leave of absence in Tuscany with his mother. Out of sight, out of mind. And it had worked, because by the middle of his second week away, a high-ranking, married Ministry official had been caught having an affair with a goblin, and Draco had become old news.

And now it was Friday, the day before he was set to return and reclaim his position as the DADA professor of Hogwarts.

And Hermione was scared, because she didn't know what was going to happen next. Now that Draco had confessed to being in love with her, and that Herman was no longer on the sidelines preventing him from being his true self, Hermione wondered where things were with them.

She supposed the best way to ascertain their standing was to ask him, but as usual, embarrassment prevented her from considering that route. What was she going to say to him, anyway? What was she going to ask him? In what way could she seek clarification on their 'relationship' without sounding too forward, or worse, needy?"

No, if he wanted to further things between them—which she _really_ hoped he did—he'd have to approach her instead. Her pride had suffered enough blows to be the one to approach him, because she couldn't shake the feeling that during his two week absence, he'd probably been re-evaluating his life. And what if, after extensive soul-searching, he'd suddenly decided he didn't love her anymore?

"…love him yet?"

"Sorry?" Hermione blinked rapidly, realising that Lavender had been speaking and she hadn't been listening.

Lavender cast a drying spell on her finished toenails, wiggled them, and then turned to look at Hermione.

"I asked if you told him you love him yet. After all, he told you he did."

Hermione blushed. "I didn't think I had to. All those desperate acts should have given him a hint."

Lavender frowned at her. "Hermione, you need to tell him. You need to—"

"Lavender, I'm not going to tell him anything," Hermione interjected. "At least, not until I'm definitely sure he wants me."

She returned her attention to the nail varnish, idly applying the paint to her remaining fingernails. She was thinking how she didn't mind the colour, but that it was highly impractical for her to wear as a professor. Thus, her attention elsewhere, she completely missed the devious glint that alighted in Lavender's eyes.

"Well, we'll see about that."

* * *

On Sunday afternoon, having just showered and eaten her lunch in her room—she hadn't gone down to the Great Hall since Saturday morning; she was still apprehensive at meeting Draco—Hermione was curled up on her sofa enjoying a light read, when Lavender burst into her room noisily, calling Hermione's name in singsong tones.

Closing her book, Hermione looked up to find Lavender clutching at least four shopping bags in each hand, her face pink from the cold, and a wide grin on her face.

"I've been shopping!" she announced.

"Apparently," Hermione replied, eyeing the bags curiously. "And you look like you bought everything from every store, too."

Lavender laughed. "I only meant to buy a new pair of robes, but I couldn't help myself. Thank Merlin my boyfriend is rich and generous!" She settled the bags down on the floor and threw herself carelessly onto the sofa with a weary sigh. She then grew animated again, bending to rummage through one of her bags. "I bought you something I think you might like, though."

Sidling closer, Hermione looked on in astonishment as Lavender produced a green silken camisole from one of the bags. However, this was no decent article of clothing that one could wear outdoors in the summer. The sides of the camisole were gone—leaving the front and the back loose, and her waistline exposed—the neckline was a plunging V, with short strips of see-through, white, lace trimming along it, and a pair of white-tipped red strings were situated where the V's point ended.

"Here, try it on," Lavender urged with a smile.

Hermione reared back in slight horror. "Lavender, that's lingerie!"

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Stop being such a prude. Don't you like dressing up sexy now and then?"

Hermione frowned. "Yes, but—"

"But nothing," Lavender said lightly. "Just try it on and let me know if it fits. That's all. If it does, it's yours for the keeping, if it doesn't, I'll just take it back to the store."

Hermione eyed the camisole. It did look rather inviting. She wasn't the type to buy such things. The closest she ever got to purchasing lingerie was lacy knickers and bras. It would be incredibly mortifying for her if someone she knew caught her shopping in a lingerie store. Besides, she'd never truly seen the need to wear them anyway.

But now, the urge to try on the camisole was getting greater. It really wouldn't hurt to try it on, she thought. Nobody would see her in it but herself…

She took the camisole from Lavender and stood.

"Alright, I'll do it."

"Fantastic. And put these on too." Lavender handed her a pair of red G-strings, the slim waistband the same green as the camisole.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Lavender beat her to it with a grin.

"See the colours? It's a Christmastime set! Can't have one without the other, can we? Now go on…"

Five minutes later, Hermione was silently admiring herself in her body length mirror. She was amazed by how well the camisole fit, like if it had been made especially for her. The silk felt great against her skin, too. Truth be told, she didn't care for the string riding uncomfortably between her buttocks, but she couldn't deny the whole ensemble was quite fetching.

"Hmm, Draco would definitely enjoy that sight."

Hermione smiled and began to answer in the affirmative when she realised that Lavender wasn't supposed to be in her bedroom. She was about to shoo her out when Lavender suddenly whipped out her wand and placed her under a Body-bind curse.

Completely shocked, Hermione watched as Lavender transfigured her discarded shirt into a jacket and began to cover her lingerie-clad body. When she was finished with that task, she eyed Hermione's bare feet for a moment before shrugging and saying aloud, "He won't mind your bare feet once he sees what's beneath that jacket."

* * *

Lavender's skill at stealth and elusion was admirable as she navigated her way to Draco's room with a _Mobilicorpus-ed_ Hermione in tow. And because Draco's room was but a mere three right turns of short hallways away from Hermione's, it didn't take her long to bring a levitating—and very furious—Hermione to Draco's door.

Aligning her friend to a standing position, she looked at Hermione with pleading, apologetic eyes.

"I'm really sorry I had to do this, Hermione," she said. "But I hope that one day you will look back on today and thank me."

And turning around, she lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles on the door.

As soon as Draco opened his door, Lavender smiled, lied to his face that she and Hermione had come to visit, lied again that she had 'suddenly remembered something important', muscled Hermione's levitating form and Draco backwards into the room, smiled beatifically at the both of them before closing the door and scurrying away.

Not too long after, the spells on Hermione were lifted, leaving her standing there with Draco in his foyer.

Silence.

_Lavender, I am going to kill you! _

She didn't want to be there, especially not in the way she was dressed. Even now, she could feel the G-string making its presence known as it rode deeper between her buttocks.

_Stupid Lavender. Just wait until I get my hands on you…_

Ducking her gaze and mumbling an apology, she made to leave, but was hindered when he stepped to the side, blocking her way.

She hugged the jacket tighter to her, annoyed that Lavender had conveniently neglected to add any buttons or zips to it, and looked up at him.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"What are _you_ doing?" he repeated unsmilingly.

"I'm leaving. I…I've got to go…" She began edging around him, but he stepped in her way again.

He folded his arms across his chest, and she couldn't resist admiring the way the material of his shirt stretched taut over the muscles of his upper arms.

"Granger, are you avoiding me?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"Malfoy, I'm _not_ avoiding you," she huffed, unable to meet his gaze anymore. "I just need to—"

"Whatever you need to do can wait," he snapped. "You're not going anywhere until you start explaining yourself, Granger."

She was scowling now, furious with Lavender for tricking her and with Draco for his high-handedness. Besides, what did he mean by explaining herself? She had no explanations for him. It was the other way around! But if this was the way he was handling things, then she didn't want to stick around. In any case, she _really_ had to get out of that G-string. It was becoming quite unbearable…

"You can't keep me here against my will, Malfoy!" she spat, before attempting to circumvent his body to get to the door.

But Draco was having none of that. With speedy reflexes, he grabbed her upper arms and forced her back in front of him, then walked her backwards and further away from the door. Then, squeezing her arms and leaning forwards slightly, his eyes darkening to an angry slate, he said quietly:

"Granger, I thought I told you once before I don't like to play games, or have you forgotten?"

"I'm not playing—" she began.

"Then tell me what I'm supposed to think?" He gave her a light shake. "Here's a scenario, Granger: a bloke fancies this girl for six years. Six bloody useless years where he thinks—_knows_—that she'll never feel the same way about him. Then out of the blue, said girl decides to give the bloke hope that maybe, just _maybe_ she loves him back. So, one day, the bloke foolishly decides to admit to the girl that he loves her and what does the girl say, Granger? What do _you_ think she said?"

Frozen, Hermione stared with wide-eyes up at Draco, unable to utter a word.

He sneered at her. "That's right, Granger, that's exactly right. She said _nothing_. Nothing at all. Worse, she avoids the bloke, giving him the impression that she actually _hadn't_ felt the same. That he'd misjudged somehow. That she'd been _playing games_."

A short moment of perfect silence followed in which Hermione came to the realisation of two things: One, she was the biggest and most _completely blind_ _idiot_ this side of the earth. And, two, Lavender was right; she _would_ be thanking her for today, particularly in a profuse and immensely adoring manner.

She lifted her hands, placed them on his shoulders, and brought herself up on tiptoe to press her lips chastely against his. His anger dissipating like smoke against a strong wind, he squeezed her body to his as he returned her kiss hungrily. Then, breaking the kiss, she pulled away from him, a devilish smirk on her lips.

"Here's a scenario, Malfoy: a girl fancies this bloke for two years, and is extraordinarily pleased to learn that the bloke feels the same way about her. When he tells her he loves her, she takes some time to tell him that she loves him too. And because she knows he doesn't like to play games, she decides to go the extra step and _show_ him that she loves him."

Meeting his gaze brazenly, she shrugged off the jacket and let it fall to the floor, smiling even wider at his gobsmacked look as he took in her skimpy clothing.

"And what does the bloke say, Malfoy? What do you think he said?"

His eyes gleaming with devious intent, a wolfish grin on his face, Draco lifted her easily into his arms and said,

"He said: 'I'm one lucky bastard.'"

* * *

_fin_

* * *

AN: Well, that's it, folks. The curtains have fallen on this love story. And although I tried to incorporate a citrusy scene towards the end, it felt fitting to end it this way. I apologise for any disappointment caused, but I like the way this has ended.

In any case, many thanks to the wonderful souls who stuck with this story from start to finish, and also to the 'converted' newcomers! Hope you truly enjoyed the ride. :)

-MizSphinx


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